Death and Destruction
by SavhCaro
Summary: An alternate ending to the finale for those of us who wish that hadn't been THE end.
1. Chapter 1

Death and destruction. Hellfire and damnation. It was all coming to an end. It was the end he had sought years ago. But this time, the ending was his choosing...his choice...his sacrifice. It balanced the scales of his life...to pay the final price and save a life. Harold's life. The man that had given him a chance to atone for all the bad he had done. And he had done _so_ much; in the name of his country, in anger and in revenge...and for love.

The pain from the multiple gunshots was getting stronger but at the same time, actually seemed to be fading into the background of his awareness. Harold was safe; he'd seen him walk into the doorway on the roof of the building across the street. So there was no longer a need to hold on to this life. He gripped his gun and stared at his hand...a hand dripping with blood...his life's blood. The SAM agents had quickly emptied their clips with a barrage of gunfire and had run back off the rooftop and down the stairs.

Slowly sliding down the wall on the edge of the roof, he squinted at the disappearing figures, wondering why they hadn't wanted to make sure they'd done their job and finish him off. Didn't really matter though. He wasn't going anywhere. Resting his head on the wall behind him, he gazed at the crystal blue sky. Only a few wispy, white clouds in attendance. As his eyes slowly closed it seemed like he could feel a slight breeze, one that carried a hint of the tropics in the scent. A slow smile appeared on his face as in his mind's eye he could picture Jessica. Bronze skin from the Mexican seashore, sun-kissed blonde hair brushing her shoulders and a smile meant only for him. He felt at peace.

But in the back of his pain fogged mind was a question...why had the SAM agents scrambled off the roof?...but then he no longer had the energy to care...as he slipped back into Jessica's arms.

As his strength bled out in pools of dark red blood, he became aware of a loud explosion. The roof he was on rumbled and shook wildly. The violent motion brought the pain of the gunshot wounds back to the forefront. Gasping in pain, his eyes opened up to see the world as he knew coming to an end. And even more distressingly, his time with Jessica was ending as well.

Smoke and fire erupted around him and the roof itself began to fall downward. The walls of the building were collapsing. All he could do was watch it happen. He knew he was mortally wounded and there was nothing more anyone could do for him.

As the floors crumbled down, one on top of the other, the dust and debris pelted him from all sides. Concrete crumbled and pieces pinned him down. It was harder and harder to breathe because of the dust. A huge girder came crashing down on him, pinning him to what was left of the roof floor. Panting with short breaths, he knew he was never leaving this building. Enough of his mental discipline was left to make an intuitive guess that a bomb had gone off or maybe a missile? That must have been why the SAM agents had run. They knew what was coming.

He saw the metal pipe seconds before it hit him and the world went black.

* * *

The destruction of the building was total. It had been a 20 story building but when the dust settled the rubble was barely 2 stories high. And the debris was strewn over 4-5 blocks. Happening in the middle of the day and in an industrial area, there were not many people out in the nearby streets. Those in the adjacent buildings were safe from the flying debris while those who sought a place to hide were covered in the fine dust from the destruction of the building. It was a deadly reminder of the aftermath of the towers collapsing on 9/11.

The explosion and rumble as the building collapsed had given the few people out and about enough warning to seek shelter. Especially attuned to their surroundings were the people

who actually _lived_ on the street, having no home, no job and no money. They made up their own community and took care of each other. As the sirens wailed and the police and firetrucks and ambulances came screaming into the area, the street folks came out of hiding to see just what had happened.

Walking around the rubble, they picked up things that had floated and fallen down when the building collapsed. Some of the things they could use, some things they could sell or barter with. Many remembered combing the ruins of the world trade center towers and for those, a type of almost PTSD-like shock took over. They stood there, almost paralyzed and gaping at the remains of the building. Still others, leery of coming across a body, moved slowly towards the destruction.

Keeping away and out of sight of the authorities, the street folk began picking through the newly delivered 'treasure trove'. An older man, long hair, unkempt beard and frayed clothes, began moving pieces of concrete that were small. Using a metal bar that he always carried, for 'work' as well as for protection, he moved pieces of concrete around searching for things he could scavenge. He came up short when he saw a foot peeking out of a huge pile of rubble. Looked like a nice, expensive, man's shoe...and it was still on a foot. Stepping carefully over the rocks, he got closer to the shoe. Tapping it with the metal bar he began looking for the mate of the shoe. Too fancy for him to wear but somebody might be willing to pay a pretty penny for a classy shoe like that. He doubted the man wearing them would care anymore if he took them. Tapping the shoe and moving rocks from around it, while hoping to find the other shoe, he was caught off guard when the shoe...moved. At first he thought he'd done something to make it move but then it moved again on its own. Stepping back he stared at the pile of rubble thinking there could be no way anybody was alive under there.

But the foot in the shoe wiggled again. The old man carefully stepped back to the pile of rocks and slowly began removing them. Moving one piece of concrete at a time, he gradually uncovered a leg in a tattered men's dark suit pants. The rocks shifted a little bit as he leaned over to look closer. There was something wet on the rocks. The closer he looked the more certain he became...that wet area was dark red…. it had to be blood. Whoever was under that pile of rubble was bleeding. And from the number of rocks that were wet, that person was bleeding **a lot.**

The man called out to a friend who was picking through a different pile of rocks. Together they began to remove more rocks around the shoe and foot and leg. As more and more rocks were removed, the body attached to those legs began to move ever so slightly. There was blood everywhere but whoever it was, he was still alive. Gingerly removing the last of the rocks they were finally able to see the face and head of the buried man. His eyes were closed and there was a huge gash on his head. An even bigger bump next to the gash seemed to be growing bigger and bigger as they watched. There was a girder that was pinning the man down and it was bigger than the two men could move together. The second man scrambled down off the pile of rubble and went to get help.

The unconscious man was covered in a heavy layer of dust but the older man could tell the hair was dark or maybe salt and pepper dark. It looked like there was a suit jacket on the man but it was ripped up pretty badly. He could just barely make out what had been a white shirt underneath the jacket and the girder. Kind of odd to see someone in a suit in this area of NYC. Most folks dressed in jeans and work shirts.

Finally his friend came back with several other street folk to help. There were three more men and two women. They all pitched in, picking up rocks, rebar and sheet rock. Finally the only thing left to do was move the girder off the man. It was going to take almost all of them to lift it enough for someone to pull the man in the suit out from under it. But after a quick discussion it was decided to try and move the girder off the man entirely. If he were hurt as badly as they thought he was, pulling him out would do even more damage. Also it would mean that all of them could work to lift the girder.

Living on the streets they had developed their own sense of 'engineering' of how to move large objects to get at something underneath. It didn't take long to figure out how to move the girder with the least amount of effort and to prevent any further damage to the unconscious man.

As the weight came off the man's chest, he made a strangled gasp but did not regain consciousness.

One of the women, Joan, stepped over to the man they had uncovered. Leaning down she looked closely at him. Gently brushing some of the layers of dust from his face she looked closer. He looked vaguely familiar, as much as she could tell from all the dust and debris covering him. There was something about the hair and the cheekbones... Suddenly she gasped and fell back, landing on the rocks. She could not believe her eyes…..

"John!"...she gasped..."John?" she whispered.

He did not respond. She told the other woman to bring her a bottle of water from her grocery buggy off to the side of the pile of rubble. Using a scrap of cloth from her pocket she poured water on it and carefully wiped his face. Staying away from the ugly gash on his head, she wiped around his eyes, nose and mouth. He never once responded to her touch. As she cleaned around his eyes and she saw those long thick eyelashes, she knew it was John.

Once she got over her shock of finding him in a place like this, she began to check his injuries. He was covered in blood and she recognized gunshot wounds. And there were many. As she unbuttoned his shirt she realized he was wearing one of those police vests. There were numerous 'blemishes' where bullets had hit the vest but not gone through, thank goodness. But there were quite a few that _had_ found their mark...one in his shoulder, one in his lower abdomen and two or three in his legs. After the demolition of the building she was amazed he was alive at all.

She knew his wounds were life threatening and more serious than anything she could handle. But she did remember that doctor that John had introduced her to...Dr Tilman. She ran a clinic where nobody asked questions about bullet wounds. She knew he wouldn't want help from the "proper authorities". Both times she knew him, he had been on the run from something or someone.

She got a few more of her friends and their grocery buggies to help make a mobile pad to get him to the clinic. She just hoped he lived long enough to get him there.

* * *

Finch stumbled through the open door, pulling it closed behind him with his right hand, his left covering the bullet wound in his abdomen. Pausing to catch his breath he gave into the pain...physical, mental and strong emotional pain on so many different levels. Pain of loss, pain of failure, pain of guilt. He'd brought John to this very moment in time and there was no one to blame but himself.

Sliding to the floor he gave into waves of heartbreak from losing his friend, his best friend. Someone who had come to mean as much as Nathan but different because of the crucible of fire they had gone through together. Coming so close to death so many times but somehow, they'd always cheated that certain death. But this time it was real, this time there was no shining moment of clarity showing the way to safety. And he had let this happen because he'd been afraid of his own creation. Afraid to release it to take care of all of them...him, Shaw, Fusco...Root. Root...so many, many times she'd exhorted him to trust in The Machine, and yet he hadn't, he'd just been frightened and scared of what lay beyond the frontier of his imagination. And look the results of his fear...his breathing faltered thinking of Root giving HER life for him and now John giving HIS life for him. He was not worthy!

In his mind he could imagine Root's voice...the Machine's chosen voice pushing him to get to safety or John sacrifice would be for naught. Closing his eyes he could still hear Reese's voice in his ear telling him that one life, his life, was the one the world could not live without. He knew he could NOT let John die in vain, die for nothing. Patting down his pockets he located his cellphone. Holding it in his left hand it quickly became slippery with blood...his blood. He knew he needed help fast.

He was able to place a call to Sameen, hoping she was safe and able to answer his call. He and John had left her and Fusco in the subway protecting the core of the Machine...the one that was slowly dying...according to Root...The Machine using Root's voice. Shaking his head slightly he wondered in a daze,if he'd ever get use to the Machine sounding, and 'looking' like Root.

"Finch?" Shaw's voice yelled into the phone. "Finch! Where are you?" No preamble...straight to the point as always...like an arrow.

"Sameen...is Det Fusco with you?" Finch said through clenched teeth. The physical pain had come to the forefront of his consciousness. No time for emotions now.

"Yes, he's here but he's been shot." That caught Finch off guard, who could have found them in the subway?

"That Blackwell guy found us,...he's the one that killed Root." Shaw said in a flat voice.

"Is Det Fusco ok?" whispered Finch, trying to hold back his own pain.

"He'll live but I need to get him to a hospital."

"Sameen, is he ok enough that you can come and get me? I require the services of a hospital as well." Finch breathed.

"What? You're hurt? How bad? How did John let that happen?" when she got no answer, she knew something was wrong, very wrong.

"Harold, where is John?"

Harold closed his eyes and more tears quietly rolled down his face.

"Harold?"

"He's...he's..." Finch's voice broke. He could not say it.

Shaw said nothing. Only her breathing changed. She was still working through the loss of Root and now Reese...the two deaths had almost breached her inability to feel.

"Where are you Harold; we'll come and get you."

* * *

Ending the call with Harold, Shaw closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The death of Root was still very fresh in her mind...that she had not been there for her, had not been able to protect her OR to comfort her as she died. That ache was a constant background pain that she had tucked away. Now adding to that, the loss of John was unexpectedly hard. She admired him, she respected him. They worked very well together because of their similar backgrounds. Their abilities complimented each other's abilities...as long as he let her drive, of course. That stray thought brought a glimmer of a smile to her lips. But the fact that John was gone, that he was dead...it just did not seem real. He had always seemed larger than life. But the fact that Harold was injured brought home to her that Reese was indeed gone. She knew nothing would ever get between Reese protecting Finch…..except death.

Exhaling calmly, Shaw opened her eyes and looked over at Lionel. He was sitting on a bench at the bus stop near where they had exited the subway. He didn't look good. The doctor in her took in the slight sheen of sweat on his face and the pale skin. She could see the blood seeping through his fingers where he held his hand over the bullet wound. She knew Lionel's condition was beyond what she could fix in whatever safehouse she decided to go to. How was she going to get Lionel AND Harold to a doctor? And and not just any doctor, but a doctor who wouldn't ask too many questions?

"Come on Lionel." she said as she helped him stand up. "We've got a little side trip to make before getting you to the doctor."

Through eyes glazed by pain, Lionel looked at Shaw sideways as he put his arm over her shoulder when he stood up. The pain made him gasp out loud.

"Side trip? I don't need the scenic tour, just get me to the closest ER." he whispered.

"Well we have to make THIS side trip. We gotta go get Harold."

"Why, what's wrong with Glasses?"

"He's been shot too and needs our help. That was him on the phone." That made Fusco pull away from Shaw.

Swaying slightly on his feet, he asked "Shot? He got shot? I thought he and Wonderboy were in that basement taking care of Samaritan with an upload thingy?".

Rolling her eyes, Shaw pulled Fusco's arm back over her shoulder and continued moving down the sidewalk. "They were, but something happened. I didn't get any details but Finch asked us to come and get him and get him to the hospital. I assume it was bad if he's asking for help while we're supposed to be helping hide The Machine".

Staggering down the street, Fusco's fevered brain was working overtime. He was a detective, a very good detective, which meant he was very good at taking pieces of information and making an intuitive leap to the proper conclusion. That was something that the others tended to forget.

Suddenly he stopped, almost pulling Shaw off her feet. Turning around toward Lionel in anger, because time was of the essence, she was stopped by the look on his face. He knew...

The pain in Fusco's gut was nothing like the pain in his chest. It was like someone had punched him in the chest.. The world shrunk down to a pin point and all he could hear was the roaring in his ears.

He was gone. The larger than life Reese was gone. Yeah, he knew that wasn't the guy's _real_ name but that didn't matter to Fusco. At first he'd given the man a few not so nice nicknames just to piss him off, like the bane of my existence. But then slowly, his nicknames had become more and more like ones a friend would give another.

Fusco's legs buckled as he sank to the sidewalk. His breathing was reduced to short pants. Gone...Dead….Gone...kept repeating in his mind like a mantra. Closing his eyes, he slowly shook his head from side to side. Denying what he saw in Shaw's face. No way could Reese be...dead. The man could be shot and still come back fighting. Reese was the man who was always there just in time. The man who always came out on top no matter what the odds. The man who always had a plan…...was dead and gone. If HE didn't survive this, how could any of them hope to? Despair twisted in his gut, sharper than any bullet wound.

Every moment between them from the past flashed through his mind. He could almost hear Reese's growl when he balked at doing something he needed Fusco to do. He remembered the time Reese had thrown him to the wolves in the guise on the Sinaloa Cartel. Out of desperation, Fusco had set Reese up to be captured/killed and yet in the end, Reese let HIM live. In some weird way, Fusco had respected him more after the incident. By not helping him deal with the Cartel, Reese had **forced** him to deal with the issue by himself, **forcing** him to take responsibility for his own actions. He remembered the raised eyebrow, the snarky comments, the smiles that started out as sneers, the barked commands to hurry up ...and yet, Reese was the man who saved him in the woods that night that he thought he'd finally come to the end he deserved at the hands of the corrupt IA agent. Reese was the guy who'd rescued him and his wingman out of the semi-trailer just as they were about to die from heat exhaustion. Reese was the guy who time and time again had saved his life literally and figuratively. The man who saw the good in him...no matter how deep it had been buried. Who never lost faith in him...was gone.

One tear slowly rolled down his face from his closed eyes...an uncharacteristic sob rose in his chest...his friend, his GOOD friend...his partner….was gone.

Feeling something pulling on his arms he looked up and saw Shaw trying to get him to his feet.

"Get your ass up, Lionel." she said through clenched teeth. "We have got to go get Harold so I can get you both to the hospital...or doctor..." her voice trailed off. "Where are we going to get help? Hope Finch has a plan."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Moving an unconscious, grown man was not an easy feat. But living on the streets had taught Joan and her friends to be resourceful. While she tried to bind up the wounds she could see, the others quickly lashed four grocery buggies together. Finding usable pieces of plywood was a little more daunting but they persevered . Once Joan had bound the injuries she could easily see, they worked together to place him on the makeshift gurney. They secured him to it with the same strips of cloths that Joan had used to clean him up. He was a bloody mess, but he was still breathing.

Moving through the rubble was slow going, but even with the bumps and holes jarring the buggies, not a sound came from Reese. Watching him as they navigated their way out of the worst part of the destruction that surrounded them, Joan grew even more concerned. She knew he could be in a coma or worse, brain dead. His injuries were severe enough that he should have made some sort of sound with all the jostling he was experiencing.

Joan was grateful for the help of her friends. She could not have moved him by herself. Out here, you learned quickly that there was no one looking out for you. If you started something, there was no one there to have your back. So if you survived long enough, you learned who you could trust and you banded together with those people. You looked out for one another. IF you lived that long...which most didn't. She'd thought for sure John was going to be one of those who didn't when she'd caught a glimpse of him that first time.

He'd been picking through the trash for food in the alley behind a restaurant. He had no buggy or bag of possessions which marked him as a new one. He held tightly to what seemed his only possession, a half bottle of some of the worst rotgut whiskey she knew of. He was skinny, dirty and unkempt. There had been a wildness in him as he locked eyes with her. She'd seen that look before, in too many people she'd known. It was the look of a man who had one foot in this world and one in the world beyond; a man who was contemplating taking that _final_ step. He'd looked down, shoulders slumping, ready to shuffle away and had tripped over some trash behind him. He caught his balance and then disappeared into the dark.

 ****Remembering how their friendship had grown out of that long ago chance encounter, Joan was wondering what John's story would be this time. Still in a suit, but wearing one of those bullet-proof vests and in this industrial part of town. It had been an interesting and painful story before, the little bit he'd told her. She was curious to see what brought him here this time.

* * *

Almost carrying a wounded Fusco was one of the hardest things Shaw had ever done. She'd have to remember to tell him to lay off the falafels once he was better. And he WOULD get better, she wouldn't allow him any other option. If only she had...her mind shied away from going there and she blocked off any thought of Root...and Reese. It was easy for her to do so. She'd been doing it her whole life. But the loss of the two of them, so close together was…... rough. She had to actively push the pain of loss into a small dark corner. There was too much at stake right now to go off the rails.

Gripping Lionel's left hand as it was dangling across her shoulders, Shaw used her right arm around his waist to pull him along. He was bigger and heavier than her but she persevered out of necessity. Just what she was going to do when she got to Harold was going to be quite interesting. He never told her how badly he was hurt. But if he'd called her for help...it wasn't going to be good. He'd told her the address where to find him. Thank goodness it was only about two blocks away.

The closer they got to the building, the more devastation they encountered. Huge pieces of rock and mortar were strewn all over the streets. Rebar poked out of chunks of concrete. Heavy dust was settling everywhere. Scraps of paper fluttered in the air. What the hell happened? A bomb? Or what was that noise she and Lionel had heard? She almost thought it sounded like a cruise missile? But she never thought she'd hear one of those in NYC. Or even in the continental US for that matter..

Lionel groaned with almost every step but he kept putting one foot in front of another. The look on his face, when it registered what had happened to Reese, was not something Shaw expected. She knew Reese rode Fusco hard and had him doing a lot of the scut work, but she also knew that Reese had grown to respect Fusco for the cop that he was, which was a damn good one. She'd never known Lionel when he worked for HR, so she didn't really have much to compare the Lionel of today to the one that Reese originally blackmailed into helping him. Reese must have seen something in the man that was worthy of a chance at redemption and now look at him. Fusco was a good guy with a big heart that he covered up with a lot of sarcasm and bluster.

Approaching the building that Harold was in, Shaw found a bus stop bench to park Fusco.

"Hang in there buddy." She said as she patted him on the shoulder. "Let me see what I need to do to get Harold"

Fusco barely nodded his head. He was pretty close to done in. The blood loss was not severe but it was getting worse and the location of the knife wound in his lower abdomen made walking excruciatingly painful.

Stepping over rubble from the blast, of the bomb? missile? Shaw made her way to the door. Checking to make sure the building itself was not about to fall down, she opened the door slowly. Just inside she could see a body on the floor, leaning against the wall. Peering through the dusty haze she realized she was looking at Finch.

"Harold? Harold?" She calmly called out to him as she moved closer. A small part of her was almost afraid to find out if she was too late.

"Sameen?" was the whispered reply. His head was back against the wall and his eyes were closed.

"I'm here Harold. Let me check you out before you move any further." She said as she crouched down next to him. "Where are you hurt? Were you shot? " Her questions came at a rush, in an almost clinical fashion, not sensing Finch's pain, either the physical, mental or emotional kind.

"Yes, but just once." Harold breathed out. Breathing hurt so much and talking hurt even more.

Shaw found the wound in Finch's lower abdomen. Almost identical to Fusco's bullet wound. WTH? Guess it was better than if they had been kneecapped because then neither would be able to walk. The minute that thought floated through her mind, it caught her off guard with the strong feeling that came with it...Reese...dead.

Shaking her head to stop the progression of that thought she asked "Harold, can you stand up? I gotta get you out of here so we can get some help."

"Yes, yes...I think so but I'll need your help. I don't bend too well these days as you know." He answered. Opening his eyes he looked at Shaw. She was not prepared for the pain she saw. And for once, she realized it was more than just physical pain.

Leaning over, Shaw was able to help Finch to stand. He wasn't very steady on his feet. There was no way she was going to be able to get Finch and Fusco to a doctor. From the looks of things, they needed a hospital ER, and they needed it NOW.

Getting Finch outside proved more difficult than she'd thought. He was in obvious physical pain but there was something else. He seemed lost, in a daze. Remembering the look on his face when she'd first seen him, she realized it was the loss of Reese that had him in a state of shock. She pretty much felt the same way, at least as best she could. Something had happened that she never imagined would happen...Reese was not coming back. Reese was _dead._

Ducking her head slightly to keep herself from going down that road, Shaw guided Finch over to the bench where Fusco was sitting.

"Hey Glasses, you ok?" wheezed Fusco. He was in pain but was concerned about the older man. "You don't look so good." He slurred.

"And neither do you, Detective." Finch said with a slight smile that immediately disappeared.

"Harold, you both need to get to a hospital. Do you think it is safe for you? Fusco won't have a problem, he's a cop and has no identity to hide."

Harold closed his eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, to get his thoughts in order he exhaled. Tipping his head back slightly, he opened his eyes. Looking at the clear blue sky he said, "I will be safe there. Samaritan has been defeated. We no longer need to hide. John...John took..." his voice trembled and he wasn't able to finish his sentence. Bowing his head he closed his eyes. Tears slowly slid down his face. Shaking his head side to side all he could do and she thought she heard him whispering, "my fault, my fault".

Hearing that Samaritan was defeated and no longer a threat to them, put everything in a different perspective for Shaw. She pulled out her cellphone and dialed 911. She needed help getting them both to the hospital and an ambulance would be the fastest.

* * *

 **Riding in the front seat of the ambulance, Shaw looked into the back and saw the EMT working on Finch. Finch seemed to be the worse off, age and a bullet wound were not a good combination. Fusco was on the other bed, propped up watching Finch. Concern etched on his face.**

 **Getting the ambulance had been pretty easy. After that bomb or missile thing went off, the whole area was crawling with ambulances looking for the injured. Sure enough, no 'alarms' went off in her head when they were quickly loaded into the back. Shaw gave the EMT a thorough report of their injuries and glossed over the fact that Finch had been shot and Fusco had been stabbed. Their injuries didn't quite blend in with the injuries of others from the bomb blast. But she felt she could talk her way through any problems in the chaos at the hospital.**

 **Fusco was talking to the EMT, asking what had happened to bring the building down. The info that the EMT had was little to none. They had just been dispatched to the area to look for the injured and nothing said about what had happened. But he did tell him that it seemed to be localized in a 3-4 block area and that they were lucky that it was an industrial area and not in one of the busier areas of Manhattan.**

 **Pulling into the ER bay, Shaw jumped out and made her way to the back of the ambulance. She felt the need to be with Finch. He was still not himself. There was more going on than just the bullet wound. She knew it had to do with the loss of Reese. But she didn't know what had happened. The last she knew, they had left together to go unleash the virus to take down SAM. How did they end up at the building where she found Finch? Who shot him? How did Reese let that happen? Or had Reese been shot and killed before Finch got shot? That made more sense. She knew without a doubt, Reese would put himself in harm's way to protect Harold, no matter the cost. The man had never thought his own life worth more than Harold's after all the bad shit he'd done. And maybe he was right, maybe none of them….her mind spun round and round, no one thought having enough traction to keep her mind on it for long. Oh, what the hell had happened to Reese and FInch? Did it have anything to do with that bomb? Or missile? Damn she wanted answers and she wanted them** **yesterday** **!**

 **As they wheeled Finch into one ER room and Fusco into another, Shaw decided it was the best time to get some intel. Her first stop was the physicians' locker room where she swiped a set of scrubs. With Samaritain gone, it might not be necessary to hide and blend in, but old habits die hard.**

 **Standing off to the side, Shaw then took in the chaotic activity going on around her. People were being brought in by ambulance and some were being brought in by family or friends. Most of the injured were covered in a layer of fine dust and seemed to have broken limbs. There were quite a few people with cuts and gashes. All of them seemed dazed.**

 **Watching all the activity, Shaw picked out the calmest person she could in the waiting area. It was a woman, sitting by herself holding her right arm across her chest. From what she could see, Shaw thought her arm was probably broken. As she walked toward the woman she reached down and picked up a magazine off one of the end tables.**

Kneeling down in front of the woman, Shaw looked at the woman and spoke. " I need to check out that arm for you. I think it might be broken." The woman looked at her and nodded her head. Reaching out Shaw gently took the woman's arm and carefully ran her hand up and down her forearm. The grimace on the woman's face told her what her hands had felt, it was definitely broken. Taking the magazine, she laid the woman's arm on it for support and got her to hold the magazine under and over arm. The pain was eased almost immediately. The woman whispered 'Thank you'.

Shaw proceeded to take her wrist and check her pulse, doing all of the expected triage that had been drilled into her so long ago as a pre-med student. While looking at the clock on the wall and counting the woman's pulse, she asked "What happened out there?"

The woman looked at her for a moment, seeming to be weighing her options of giving an opinion or just what she knew.

"I'm not really sure. There was an explosion. That much I know. It happened near the building where I work." Looking down at Shaw she was caught off guard with the intensity of the look on her face. Feeling a little bit leery she wondered how much more she should tell.

"Please continue. We really need to have some idea of what happened so we'll know what kind of injuries to expect." Shaw urged.

Realizing that made sense, the woman continued. "I think I heard a noise just before the explosion. I don't think a bomb would make a really loud noise before it blew up, do you?"

"No I don't think so either. So you think it might have been a missile or something?" Shaw suggested. She too remembered hearing the noise. Her training was telling her it was a cruise missile but she'd thought that idea out of play because who in their right mind would launch a cruise missile within the continental US? And it had been only one. If the country was being attacked, it would have been more than one. And yet, the woman had heard the noise too from inside her building so it had to be loud...So...she couldn't be right, could she? Then again, how many people knew there was an undeclared secret war going on between 2 AIs?

Standing up, Shaw looked down at the seated woman. "Keep that magazine supporting your arm til we can get you to x-ray. I'm pretty sure it's broken", she said and then walked away, leaving the woman staring after her.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Moving down the back streets with the four grocery buggies carrying Reese was not easy. Pushing around all the debris in the road was hard. They were getting nowhere...slowly. The obvious jostling of the unconscious Reese was rough. Joan knew the bumps and dips and turns had to be painful but she never heard a sound. Checking to make sure he was still alive, she was grateful that he was unconscious.

After a block they all stopped to rest. They'd never make it to the clinic if they kept having to fight keeping the buggies together, each one wanted to go off in its own direction. Joan finally sent one of her friends to see if they could get a gurney from the clinic and meet them halfway. Thanking her friends for their help, she got up and was ready to start moving again.

At the end of the 2nd block Joan spotted her friend coming toward her with the gurney...and helping to steer the gurney was Dr Tilman. Joan smiled. Megan Tilman had been a friend ever since John had introduced them when Joan had fallen and cut her leg three years ago. Many of Joan's friends on the street had found their way to Dr Tilman's clinic for help. They all knew she could be trusted not to judge them and to ask even fewer questions.

Dr Tilman reached out to Joan with a warm hug, "Joan! I am so glad you are ok! You were the first person I thought of when news talked about the huge explosion."

Looking over toward the man on the makeshift gurney of grocery buggies Megan was caught by surprise. The man covered in a fine white dust, ripped black suit and gray...no, white shirt...looked vaguely familiar. Walking closer, she leaned over to get a better look and gasped.

"John?" she whispered, eyes widening with shock. He was the last person she'd expected to see. Quickly glancing over at Joan she saw the concern that she felt, mirrored in Joan's eyes.

"I don't know how or why he was there. We found him in the rubble of that building that came down." Joan said looking at John. "He's been unconscious since we found him." Reaching out to lay her hand on Megan's arm, "and I think he's been shot. More than a couple of times."

Megan looked back at the unconscious man in front of her. Checking for a pulse she was glad to feel one, even if it was faint. Pulling back the jacket she could see blood on the once white shirt. Pulling back the part that Joan had already unbuttoned she was not surprised to see a kevlar vest. Seeing the dents where bullets had hit but not penetrated made her realize he was one very lucky man. Doing a quick triage she counted five bullets that hit home. One in the shoulder, one in the lower abdomen, two in one leg and one in the other. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out how the man was still alive.

"Come on, it's going to take all of us to get him on this gurney".

It did take all five of them to get Reese moved over to the gurney and strapped on. The whole time not a sound escaped him. That was good and bad as far as Tilman was concerned. That gash on his head, with the very noticeable swelling concerned her the most. She felt she could fix what she could see...but a concussion or worse, a subdural hematoma? That was a major concern. If he had that and his brain stem started to swell...she knew there would be nothing she in her small clinic could do for him.

Moving down the street proved much easier and faster with the gurney. Joan thanked her friends for their help. They faded back into the darkened side streets and Joan began pushing her buggie with all her worldly belongings down the street next to the gurney. She wasn't leaving John.

Meg helped steer the gurney with Reese on it into the clinic. Pointing in the direction of the back, she let her nurse's aide move him to an examination room.

Turning to Joan she gently guided the older woman into a rickety chair in the waiting room. Because of the time of day, there weren't many patients waiting to be seen. Most of her patients came in after dark, some looking for a warm place to sleep almost as much as needing to see a doctor.

"Joan, I'll do what I can for him. You know that. His injuries look severe but he IS still alive so that's a good thing."

Joan looked up at Meg with fear in her eyes. "You're gonna fix him, right? He's gonna be ok?" she whispered.

"Let me go do a thorough exam on him and I'll let you know." Squeezing Joan's hands tight, she walked into the back of the clinic.

Peeling off her jacket, Meg immediately donned a disposable scrub and walked over to the sink. Scrubbing her hands and arms, all the way up to her elbows was second nature and she did a thorough job without having to think about it. Which was good because her mind was going in a thousand different directions. What would be the best way to get started? Her cursory glance in the street didn't tell her much except that he was gravely injured. That kevlar vest had saved his life...at least momentarily.

Rinsing her hands, she turned toward her surgical nurse who had gloves ready for her. Slipping her hands into the gloves and hearing the resounding snap of the gloves in place, she took a deep breath and backed her way into the exam room.

The nurse's aide had done as much as possible to get him ready for her. His suit jacket, or what was left of it, had been cut off, the pants had been cut from the ankle to his waist. The white kevlar vest was in full display while the white shirt was in bloodstained tatters. The aide had tried her best to clean the dirt and powdery substances off him as much as possible.

Leaning over John she tried to take a mental inventory of the injuries she could see without touching him. The kevlar vest had absorbed at least two bullets that would have torn through his chest cavity and into his heart if not for the vest. There was also a wound in his right shoulder, another one in his lower abdomen and it looked like at least one bullet in each leg. He was a mess, and bleeding sluggishly. Running her eyes up again to his face, she was surprised to see how relaxed and calm his facial expression was almost like he was...at peace? She'd never seen that look on his face when he was conscious and seeing it now gave her pause. Looking a little higher she saw the deep gash on his head, right at the hairline. She could see the bruising already spreading as the lump got larger. That was her greatest concern...concussion. She could treat the bullet wounds easily. She'd had too much practice at that due to the location of her clinic and the type of patients that came to her, or were brought to her, every week. She knew that they came because she didn't ask too many questions and she was ok with that. At least they came. And she had this man, lying on the gurney in front of her, to thank for the second chance she had to do good for those who most needed a break. She knew her sister would be proud of her.

But first things first, she had to take care of the bullet wounds and stop the bleeding. The easiest to get to were the ones in his legs. The femoral artery wasn't severed in either leg or he would have long since bled out. That meant they could wait. Checking the one in his right shoulder, she was relieved to see that the bullet had not hit the bone or the clavicle artery and was already clotting. That one could also wait. It was the one in his lower abdomen that caused the most worry. She asked her nurse to bring type O blood and set up a transfusion. He needed blood and he needed it fast.

She needed to get the vest off of him to get to the abdomen wound. The vest had done its job and prevented the bullets from actually hitting him but even so, they pack a powerful punch when the force of the bullet is stopped. The result of all that protection was severe bruising and in some cases, broken ribs. Leaning over, she inspected the bullet holes in the vest. It was obvious that he'd been shot at close range. Why the shooter didn't aim for a head shot she would never know but she was eternally thankful they did not. Pulling up on the velcro straps over his shoulder and the ones on each side, she was able to lift off the front of the vest.

Reese's bare chest was exposed and the lividity of bruising was already well advanced. Tilman had treated him many times in the past for injuries he sustained in his 'job'. A job he never gave her much detail about. Every time she'd tried to ask about it, he switched the direction of the conversation away from her question. She thought he might be 'working' with someone but she never got him to give a name or address or any info at all really. But if he had been working with or for someone, they should be notified of his injuries. **Someone** out there had to be worried about the man in front of her. Even now might be trying frantically to get ahold of him after they tuned on the news and saw the destruction. But if he worked alone, then there was no one. And while she didn't accept that fact, she needed to focus on fixing him. Shaking her head as she worked, she berated herself mentally for not finding out more information about him when they'd last had lunch together or during their weekly cup of coffee. John always wanted to hear about her, her job, her patients and the clinic itself. He'd helped her set up this free clinic in a desperate part of town that needed medical help with no questions asked. She never knew how he got the money or how the bills were paid or even who paid the bills. She just had a suspicion there was someone else in the picture.

As she cleaned the wound in the abdomen she again was in awe that this man was alive and walking, and talking or at least that he had been. The scars on his torso told a very different story than what she had been able to get from him. She counted no less than 11 bullet wounds, 4 stabbing scars and 2 burn marks. There were even more on his legs! He looked like a patchwork quilt. His body told the story of someone who had put themselves in harm's way for others over and over again.

Working quickly, she retrieved the bullet and tied off the bleeders. How he could be hit with so many bullets at once and none hit anything vital was beyond her. Shaking her head at the miracle that was John Reese, she packed it and stitched him up. She prided herself on the fact that her small stitches wouldn't leave a scar. Not that it would matter to John, but it mattered to HER. She would not be responsible for adding to this man's scarring, not even a little. Moving onto his legs she again retrieved the bullets and cleaned the wounds & stitched him up. The shoulder wound took a little more time but finally got it closed.

Looking down at her handy work she wondered once again 'how did he survive'? The bullets she'd dug out of him had come from automatic weapons, at least from what she'd been learning of gunshot wounds from her years down at the clinic. The angle of entry was different for each one. There must have been multiple shooters. Where had he been that caused him to be shot that many times? He'd come to her with injuries before but nothing of this magnitude.

He was an amazing man. His will to live was obviously very strong. Lesser men would have succumbed to half of these wounds. She hoped she had done a good enough job that he would not have to go to a hospital. He'd told her years ago that he could never go to an emergency room. Never told her why, just that he couldn't. She knew better than to pry further.

John was as close to death as she'd seen anyone. But his heart still beat. He had been mortally wounded but survived somehow. She held onto that fact with desperation. There was much more to John Reese than anyone probably knew and he seemed to prefer it that way. She just hoped she'd done a good enough job.

* * *

Finch had withdrawn into himself. He felt the loss of Root was his fault. The loss of the Machine hurt like the loss of his child. And the loss of John Reese was almost the killing blow. HE was supposed to be the one to die. He was going to die with his Machine; they would take out SAM together. John was supposed to be able to have that normal life they both dreamed of...

Further down the hall, Lionel, was just grateful to be talking to his son. He had to make sure Lee was safe and that he knew he was safe. After talking to him at some length and reassuring himself that Lee was fine, Lionel he was once again glad that Lee lived with his mother. They were far removed from all of this crazy ugliness. Once that need was satisfied he allowed himself to start to feel the loss of his partner, his friend, the man who had been the first to throw out a life-ring to him, the first that helped him to save him from himself.

With Finch and Fusco taken care of medically, Shaw wandered around the hospital, keeping an eye out for enemy agents of course, but mostly just walking aimlessly, her thoughts in chaos. Finally making her way up some stairs to the roof, she walked to the edge and stared at the smoke still hanging in the air from the explosion many blocks away. How the three of them got away from there was still amazing to her.

Watching the smoke slowly drift upwards she realized she was looking at Reese's funeral pyre. There would be nothing left of him to identify or even bury. Shaking her head side to side she turned her back on the gray, smoky haze. Walking to the opposite corner of the roof she looked out on a clear blue sky, looking like any other day. Except for the sirens still blaring from below. She was too good an operative to be able to completely tune those out.

Turning around, she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the rooftop with her back to the corner, She was still trying to deal with losing Root. They had only been together such a short time after her escape. Their conversations had just started getting a little deeper than the overt teasing/flirting they did with each other. Root had finally been honest with her about how she felt. Shaw herself, was still trying to put her own feelings into words when she lost Root. She didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to her...that seemed to be the worst part...so much more should have been said, but now never would.

Shaw pulled her knees up close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin on them she could still see the smoky haze lingering in the air. Reese. He was gone. Larger than life, BAMF from Hell and he was...gone. Seemed impossible that he could die. But Finch said he had and from Finch's reaction, she had no reason to doubt him. Hell her own eyes were telling her what her heart didn't want to accept. No one, not even Reese, could have survived that amount of destruction.

Reese had filled her world after losing Cole. He understood her on a level that even Cole had not. They were two kindred spirits with shared backgrounds even though they'd never worked together in the military. Their training, their experiences complemented each other from the moment they began working together. They were in each other's minds, with little to no words necessary to carry out a mission. They had each other's backs, unquestionably.

Shaw's breath caught in the back of her throat, making her feel uncomfortable...making it difficult to breathe, to take a breath.

Reese had been the one to help her deal with losing Root. He never had to say anything to her, he just knew. He was just knew he was watching her closer than normal, trying to protect her. Normally should would have given him hell about that but he did it so well, so casually and so 'hands off' that she accepted it for what it was, his way of dealing with the loss of Root and knowing how it was affecting her. It was his way of looking out for…..a friend.

Now there was no one to help her deal with losing him. Root had named them the Mayhem Twins and that was a perfect name. They were twins...opposite sides of the same coin. But now there was no one to ease this loss. Her twin had been ripped away from her, just when she needed him there the most...and yeah, alright, she had needed him. There was nothing wrong with that right?

She had lost the two people who mattered the most to her in the world ...in a matter of days. Maybe it was a good thing that she didn't feel things like other people did. That the pain was a distant thing to be observed but not really felt or experienced. Maybe she was lucky that those feelings were turned way down low, like Genrika, the little Russian girl had said.

But suddenly it didn't feel like those feelings were turned down low...they were louder than normal…..trying to give voice to what had happened. Finch seemed lost, Fusco was a pit of despair, Root was gone before she could tell her how she felt and Reese's strong, solid presence was gone. She felt like she was maybe the only one who was truly dealing with all that had happened...and she was having to do so by herself. Not used to dealing with any emotional response within herself, she was shaken to her core about how to handle things. She'd always been the one in control but now there was no reason to BE in control.

Slowly, one tear welled up in her left eye, and then her right. Two single solitary tears slowly made their way down her cheeks. That catch in her throat got worse. A feeling of stark loneliness overtook her. She had no back up. She was EVERYBODY's backup...but for what? No Machine, no numbers and no SAM if everything worked out. But where to go next, what to do next was beyond her at the moment.

At this moment it was finally time to grieve. REALLY grieve. Grieve for all the lost moments that were missed and now would never happen with her and Root. Grieve for the relationship she had been looking for all her life and never knew til it was too late. Grieve over losing the one person she felt equal to on the battlefield, who always had her back and who liked to tease her quietly when she'd get too serious. Grieve over the brother who had read her mind and was up for any type of plan they might come up with...no matter how crazy. Grieve for someone who trusted her explicitly, no questions asked. For all these people who had become the family she didn't know she wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Bowing her head over her knees, she let the tears slowly come as for the first time real emotions washed through her. Slowly Shaw came back from wherever she had been. Raising her head, she looked around the rooftop. She was alone. Rubbing her eyes she was surprised that her hands were wet. Frowning she held her hands out in front of her. Yes, her hands were definitely wet...from what? Touching her face gently she realized her face was wet. Had she been...crying? No way! She didn't cry. Ever. Glancing down to her knees that were draw up close to her chest, she saw that her jeans were wet also.

"Oh hell no!" Shaw muttered as she scrambled to her feet. The slight breeze made the dampness on her cheeks feel cool. Angrily wiping her face dry, she turned around and looked off into the distance. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the pillar of smoke still hanging in the air. Her ears picked out the sounds of sirens from down below as they became fainter and fainter.

Shaw quickly inhaled and closed her eyes...John. Shaking her head slowly side to side she worked to regain her control. Thinking of losing John made her think of losing Root and she had too damn much to do to go 'there'.

Walking to door down off of the roof, Shaw was fully back into her 'work mode'. She had a lot to do. Putting things into priority order was the first thing she had to do since it didn't seem like Finch was going to be able to do that any time soon.

Stopping by the nurses stations, she got the charge nurse to tell her the status of Harold and Lionel. Both had their injuries treated and were no longer in imminent danger of dying. But there were others that needed to know about them and about John. Finch had nobody except Grace and she already thought he was dead. Lionel had gotten in touch with his son so he was taken care of. But John had two people who cared very much for him and she was not looking forward to tell them that he was gone. She gulped and took a deep breath, tucking those stupid feelings in the back of her mind where they belonged. She was done with that shit. Time to move on.

Taking a deep breath, Shaw dialed Zoe's number. Her mind was now working in very cold precision as usual, checking off the things that needed to be done. This was one of those times she was glad that she was different. They always made such a big deal over the fact that she couldn't feel emotions well if at all. But as far as she was concerned, it actually made her better at what she did, not worse. It meant that she could compartmentalize things and deal with one thing at a time. With no emotion entering into the equation she felt competent to get things done fast. There would be time later for whatever. She didn't even have a name for it.

"Hello?" Zoe's sultry voice answered. Shaw immediately had a mental picture of Zoe relaxing at her penthouse high above NYC, with a glass of wine in hand.

"Hey Zoey, this is Shaw." She said quickly, brusquely.

"Sameen, how are you? This is a pleasant surprise..." There was a pause. "Or is it? Something's happened..."

Shaw was glad that Zoe was quick on her feet. Smart as a damn whip, there was no need for pretense.

"It's about Reese..." Shaw just let the name hang there.

A slight gasp was heard by Shaw,.so barely there she wasn't really sure she actually heard it.

"That explosion downtown today, did that have something to do with John?" Zoe asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Finch was shot, Fusco was stabbed. I got them both to the hospital and they'll be ok." She deliberately left out her concerns for Finch and his mental state.

"And John?" Zoe's voice was harder but her ears almost detected a faint quiver.

"Finch told me he was killed. By that bomb...or missile or whatever that thing was. It destroyed a whole building."

For a moment, Shaw was caught up in a memory of hearing John's deep, calm, whispery voice telling her not to worry.

"You're sure? Zoe asked, maintaining her signature calm demeanor.

"Yeah, Finch seemed pretty sure Reese was dead. I've never seen the man so shook up about something."

"Thank you for letting me know, Sameen. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you or Harold."

"No worries. I'll stay in touch." and Shaw hung up the phone.

As the line went dead, Zoe looked at the phone in her hand. So much had changed since she answered that phone.

* * *

John was relaxing on the sand with Jessica in his arms. Warm sun, light breeze...

 _A sudden, jarring pain erased the warmth of the the sun with the warmth of fresh blood on his chest and he saw a flashback in black and white of men coming toward him with guns._

The warmth of the ocean on the Mexican coast as he dove under the waves to come up next to Jessica, grabbing her tightly in his arms just to hear her laughter...he loves to hear it...he would do anything to hear that laughter and joy...anything.

 _Wet, sticky liquid streamed down his face, a coppery taste fills his mouth. The sounds of walls crashing, explosions ..._

Why did the laughter stop? Where is Jessica? There she is! She's running down the beach, calling his name...he takes off after her. His long legs eating up the ground til he catches her. Her laughter turns to giggles as he swings her around envelopes her in a bear hug.

 _Pain, pain in both legs. He can't stand anymore. Slowly sliding down to the ground? Floor? Where is he? The images never shows enough, only the physical sensations seem real..._

He struggles to find Jessica, frowning with concentration... and then he's back at that moment. Holding Jessica's sun warmed body close, her blonde hair tickling his face...as she gives him a smile meant only for him...he captures her mouth with his own and is transported to bliss..

 _Bumps and dips, pain here, pain there...but he refuses to give into the hurt...no sound escapes his lips._...and he once again escapes back to the woman in his arms.

 _Finally, the rough, uneven sensation stops. He feels his broken body being moved without his volition. Cool hands begin to tend to the many hurts...too painful to endure..._

 _NO! They are pulling him away from Jessica! Jessica will save him...Jessica will make the pain go away. She will save him..._

* * *

Putting the phone down Zoe got up and walked over to the bar in her living room. Putting down her glass of wine, she found herself the bottle of 15 year old scotch that she kept for Reese when he visited. Pouring herself a glass, she slowly shook her head. He'd never be back to finish it.

Taking the bottle and the glass out onto her balcony she walked to the edge and stared off in the distance at the smoke still hanging lazily around one of the the industrial areas in Queens. Placing the bottle on the ledge she leaned on the wall.

She and Reese had had such a great relationship. A perfect one. They complimented each other so well. They made no demands on each other. No claim of ownership. They enjoyed each other's company...at a play, a bar, her penthouse, in bed. They had an easy and comfortable relationship. They respected each other greatly. He always treated her as an equal and sought her opinion many times. She had always looked forward to their time together. She was going to miss that. Their friendship was deep and comfortable. There was no romance to make things complicated. They just...were.

She raised her glass of scotch and saluted the man she knew and what he'd brought into her life. As her lips touched the liquor and the taste flowed through her mouth, she was caught off guard by the tears that sprang into her eyes. The taste of the liquor reminded her of kissing him. The warmth of his lips, the strength of his arms around her, the 'safe' feeling he gave her just by being himself. All the memories of what they had shared came flowing into her mind at one time. She became overwhelmed with a feeling of loss that she was not expecting.

Backing away from the ledge, she felt around til she could find a seat to sit down. Her breathing was coming in gasps. Tears fell down her cheeks as she choked back a sob. Carefully placing the glass on the table in front of her she covered her face with her hands and gave into the raw emotions welling up inside of her. Emotions that were that much stronger than she usually felt, made more so by their unexpectedness. The pain in her heart was a physical thing.

John was gone. She was never going to see him again. Never hear that voice that she'd come to love. Discussing politics or teasing her about her job. Never feel that scruff around his mouth when he kissed her. Never feel that beautiful, strong hand holding hers as they sat in front of the fireplace. So many memories began crowding up in her mind, overlapping moments with him...and she would never to have them again.

Lowering her head to her folded arms, she allowed herself to accept how much he had meant to her and how much she cared for him. She cried for the lost opportunities, the lost moments they would never share. She cried for all the times he made her laugh, especially at herself. She cried for the little things he did for her so unexpectedly...bringing a takeout dinner over from her favorite restaurant, tickets to a play she had been wanting to see, waking up to him cooking breakfast for her...so many things that made their relationship work so well. And now it was gone, it was over...and all she had of him was memories.

* * *

Sitting beside John in the exam room, Joan soaked in every detail as she was reminded of that day she'd known he was someone special. Someone who couldn't help himself from caring for others. That first time she'd seen him and thought that he didn't care for much other than the booze he had in his hands, she knew now she'd been mistaken. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything for others, it was that he felt too much. A fact that even the dirt and his unkempt appearance couldn't hide.

He'd been wounded and unconscious then too. She didn't know who he was then, and frankly wasn't all that sure she knew who he was now. He'd never been good about talking about himself but she'd been the only one he'd opened up to. Shaking her head side to side she remembered how they had 'met'...he had been sprawled out on the floor of the deserted building she and her friends lived in when it was cold.

She'd just come into the abandoned warehouse after having been out all day scavenging for things to trade or sell and most important of all...something to eat. That day the pickings had been slim. She was tired and hungry and not ready to deal with any disruptions from her normal routine. But as was always the case, events didn't order themselves to meet her wishes.

There was a fight going on just inside the door to the warehouse. Three of the rougher inhabitants were mercilessly beating up someone. She hoped it was a man because they were a vicious group and they were using their hands and feet. If it was a woman, she was probably dead by now.

Keeping a wary eye on them, she pushed her grocery cart, with all her worldly belongings on it, around the fight. Glancing over she realized the one receiving the beating was indeed a man. He was either unconscious ...or he wasn't fighting back. He wasn't even trying to defend himself.

Suddenly one of the people administering the beating stopped and yelled "I got it!" while holding up a bottle of liquor. Turning away he'd taken a big swallow of the liquor. The other two immediately followed him trying to get the bottle away...leaving the previous owner of the bottle motionless on the warehouse floor.

As things quieted down, Joan began her nighttime ritual of tidying up and tying down her few possessions. She had to sleep sometime and even though she didn't have much, what she did have was hers and she meant to keep it.

She kept glancing over that the still form by the door while she worked. The man hadn't moved since his tormentors took off with his bottle. She wasn't even sure he was actually still alive. Death was not a rare occurrence here. It was an unspoken sanctuary for those whom society had forgotten...or ignored.

Curiosity finally got the better of her. If the man was still alive she would try to help him. If not, well, she would try to find something on him that would tell her who he was and who she could notify about his death. Life on the street was hard but it had not beaten her down completely. Somewhere, someone may have been missing him.

She rooted around in her buggy and found some cloths and brought water from a nearby rain barrel to clean him up.

As she had wiped the blood and dirt from his face she had been amazed at how good looking he was. But she had been dismayed when she'd seen how thin he was. It had been obvious that he had not been eating much, if anything for quite a while. Sometimes that was the way with some of them. They forgot to eat and were more worried about finding the next bottle of oblivion.

She'd worked her way up to the bad cut on his head when he'd begun to stir. She'd started talking softly to him and making soothing noises. Surprisingly, that had seemed to calm him down. She'd continued her ministrations until she'd cleaned the wound and his face and neck.

When she'd put away her things she'd felt his eyes on her. She'd turned around and was struck by the deep blue eyes that were staring at her out of the gaunt face. He'd made no sound, no movement...was just watching her. The pain she'd seen in those eyes has reached something deep within her. She'd reached out and placed her palm on the side of his face. He'd jerked away but she persisted. His skin felt hot and feverish to the touch. The closer she looked, the more she had realized that the pain in those eyes was also mixed with the brightness of fever. He was sick, very, very sick.

There had been something about John, as she'd finally gotten him to give his name, that reached out to her. He had seemed big and strong but something in his life had almost destroyed him: something that had left deep, life-long scars. She'd felt the desire...and the need to take care of this man. There had been something about him worth saving but she'd had the distinct impression that he did would not agree. He'd obviously been slowly and methodically trying to kill himself for quite some time. Slowly, over the next few months she would get a small detail from him here and there about what brought him to the streets. But it was an unwritten rule out here on the streets, you never asked about the "before".

Coming back to the present, she wondered which "John" would be the one to wake up this time. He'd been coming to visit her about once a month over the last couple of years. Bringing food and money and spreading it around Joan's group of street people. He had been dressed well, seemed healthy, although there had been a few times he had seemed to be nursing a recent injury. But he'd never told her about his life away from her. To explain the money, he spoke of his 'job', a dangerous one it seemed, although he didn't say so. Most of the time he would have a bright smile for her but there were a few times when she saw the haunted look return to his eyes.

He'd introduced her to Meg Tilman, which had been a Godsend. But every time she'd tried to find out who he worked for or where he lived, he'd changed the subject and become quiet until she'd changed the conversation. As a consequence, she had no idea of who she should notify about his injury. No idea of where he'd go when he was able to leave Meg's clinic. Either way, she resolved to take care of him again if need be. He hadn't forgotten her when he clawed his way up out of the hole he was in and moved on and she wouldn't forget him either.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Hanging up the phone after relaying the news to Zoe, Shaw leaned back and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath she let it out slowly. That was one phone call down. She knew Zoe would be affected by the news about Reese. She'd handled it pretty well. But then again, Zoe was about about control, of herself and any situation. One less worry.

That little corner of her mind that she had locked down, kept trying to get her attention. A voice kept whispering the names of Root and Reese. Shaking her head slowly side to side, trying to shut up those whispers, she jerked upright, almost growling the words "NO, not now!" Her eyes flew open but saw nothing as she searched for an out. She did not want to make that second phone call. Especially to someone she'd never met.

"Um...Ms. Shaw?" a hesitant voice broke into her heavy thoughts. Thankful for the interruption, Shaw looked up and tried to smile at the nurse.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Finch is awake now, if you'd like to see him."

Muttering under her breath, "Thank God!" She stood up and thanked the nurse and headed toward Harold's room.

Tapping on the door she waited to hear Harold's voice. Hearing nothing, she slowly pushed the door open until she could see the bed and the man in it. He seemed asleep, on his back but facing away from the door.

Quietly stepping into the room, she shut the door behind her. Walking around to the far side of the bed, she was surprised to see Harold's eyes open.

"Harold?" she called out softly. No response. "Harold?" she said a little louder. Still nothing.

Walking up to the side of the bed, Shaw looked down at Harold with concern. He was just staring at the wall. There was no reaction to her calling his name or even to her being in his room.

Sitting down in the chair next to the bed so she was facing him, she reached out and touched his hand. Still no response. This was definitely NOT good.

Taking his hand in hers, she called his name again, squeezing it. Finally a response! A slight squeeze back.

"Harold, it's me, Sameen." Slowly his eyes met hers but no recognition yet. "Harold, it's Sameen...Sameen Shaw."

As his eyes focused on her face, she realized he was aware of her being there. "Harold, it's me, Sameen. I'm here."

Recognition, tinged with doubt, slowly crept into his face.

"Sameen?"

"Yes Harold, it's me." Shaw smiled back.

"Where am I? What happened?" He whispered looking around the room. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as he moved in the bed. "I'm hurt? How did I get hurt?"

Confusion reigned supreme in Harold's mind. Waking up in a hospital room, hurting for some reason...a surgery? Had he just had a surgery? And how did he get here? Who brought him? His natural paranoia weighed in then, what name did he use when he was admitted? Does Samaritan know? Where is John?

That last thought caused him to gasp out loud. Then groan again because of the effect that gasp had on his lower left side. John. John...where was John? Why did it hurt to just THINK his name?

Tightly gripping Sameen's hand, Harold looked her in the eye. "Where is John?" He whispered.

This was NOT what she was expecting. Harold was the CO. Harold made the decisions. She was having a hard time keeping her military habits straight from civilian terms at the moment. Stress like this tended to throw her back. She needed his guidance. But now he was looking at her almost begging her to tell him a lie. That was the only way to describe the look on his face.

On a subconscious level, Harold's mind knew...but he did not want it confirmed...he did not want to hear those words.

Suddenly it was hard for Sameen to breathe. The thoughts and feelings she had been keeping under iron control, threatened to break through. Telling Zoe about Reese had been hard but having to tell Finch was almost more than she could handle.

HE had been the one to tell HER! Now it seemed he'd blocked it out of his memory. Taking in Harold's paleness, the rapid beat of his heart that she could feel from his hand gripping hers, she wondered if he was capable of handling the truth...if she should re-awaken the memory of losing John. He'd told her nothing of the details, just that John, his friend, was dead.

"Harold...John is dead. You told me yourself"...

The anguish that immediately came into Finch's eyes let her know he understood. The tears that flowed down his cheeks let her know he remembered.

"My fault...my fault...my fault" was all Harold could say. Over and over and over as the tears flowed freely. "It was supposed to be me."

All Sameen could do was let Harold come to grips with what ever happened. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do to make it any better.

She had never seen Harold show so much emotion. He was always constrained, in control, he always had an answer or another way out. But now he seemed completely undone.

Pulling her right hand out of Harold's grip, she slipped her left hand in. They both seemed to need the contact with another person.

Flexing her right hand, she slowly shook her head. She had an idea of what Harold was feeling, how crippling it was to lose John and not being able to do anything to stop it. She'd been feeling that way since she lost Root. If she'd been there, she would have protected her or gone down fighting. To discover that there WAS something between the two of them, only to have her snatched away so unexpectedly, had shaken Sameen. She didn't have 'feelings' like other people. She'd been told that her entire life. But she did...she hurt badly losing Root...the feelings were just 'turned down'. But suddenly someone had turned up the volume. When Harold had originally told her about Reese, she'd filed that away and tried to move on. But that was when she'd noticed a change. Losing John, who was so much like her, seemed to have been the turning point in actually FEELING the loss of them both. Root and Reese were the two most important people in her life and now they were both….gone.

Once again tears formed in her eyes. Her chest literally hurt. Bowing her head over their clasped hands, she gave into the feelings that were slowly overwhelming her.

The only sound in the room was two hearts breaking.

* * *

Fighting his way up from the darkness, Reese struggled to understand where he was. Pain was everywhere. Every part of his body was screaming and each body part was trying to scream louder than the other parts. Constant movement, bumps, dips, twists, turns and stops all merged into on a nightmare of endless pain. His mind was screaming but no sound came out of his mouth. He had no control over his body. He couldn't stop the pain, he couldn't get away from the pain...more pain than he'd ever experienced at one time. The only way to make it stop was to completely withdraw. His consciousness slowly slipped away back into the darkness where there was no pain...just blackness.

In the darkness Reese found peace. There was no pain. There was a nothingness. He just existed.

 _Jessica appeared out of the darkness, beckoning him to follow her._ But that way lay a return to pain and he wasn't ready for that. But the desire to be with Jessica, to see Jessica, overrode everything else and he took her hand and followed her.

 _Once again they were back on the sunlit beach. The roar of the waves was soothing. The sun was warm and relaxing and making him sleepy. But he wanted to stay awake. He didn't want to miss a moment with Jessica. They were too few and too far apart._

But he fell asleep anyway, with Jessica at his side.

Once again he found himself struggling to wake up. His movements felt sluggish and uncoordinated. _Reaching out for Jessica he felt nothingness. She was gone. Once again everything hurt. But he had to find Jessica. Where was she? Why can't I see her? Why can't I touch her?_ Reese's movements became even more frantic...fighting against the pain.

 _She was gone. She'd left him. No, that was wrong, he'd left her. He had to find her. He needed her. She needed him. Yes, she'd called him. He promised he'd be there no matter what. He'd begged her to wait for him. She said she would._ But where is she? He became more and more agitated as the pain threatened to overtake him again. He fought against it. _He had to find her. He had to explain that he'd been wrong. Wrong to leave her. Wrong to not ask her to wait for him. She was the only right thing in his life and he'd left her. How could he have been so wrong? So very, very wrong._

As the pain grew and once again threaten to take over him entirely, the pain suddenly seem to ease just a little. Slowly pain began to level off. _As darkness once again claimed him he knew he'd lost Jessica. She'd needed him and he hadn't been there for her. She was gone. He lost her completely. And it was his fault, in all ways._ He welcomed the darkness this time.

Gradually, the darkness receded. He became aware of his body and the pain that seemed to be everywhere. But it had eased somewhat. Not gone, but almost bearable. He knew he was on a bed of some sort. Too soft to be the floor. He was too weak to even open his eyes but he used his ears to help identify where he was. It was quiet but he could hear distant, muffled sounds of people, moving, talking. It was then that he realized there was someone near him. He could hear their breathing. But it was shallow and regular, like someone who was asleep. There was also an unusual smell, a medicinal smell. Like a hospital. That felt right. Especially for the all encompassing pain he felt.

But who was there with him? Who was asleep near him? He didn't feel like he was in danger. Didn't feel like he was threatened. Who was there?

And then all of the mental re-con he'd been doing suddenly exhausted him. What little strength he had was gone. The pain was slowly creeping back. He became aware of specific spots where the pain was the worst. And there was more than just a few places. His legs, his stomach, one shoulder and he had a massive headache. As the pain returned his breathing changed and almost came in gasps.

The person near him roused as his breathing became ragged.

"John?" a soft voice called. "John, can you hear me?"

The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't place it. It was female. The harder he tried to concentrate, the more the pain threatened to overtake him.

The person who'd called him John, got up and he could hear her moving ...toward the door? Must have been because he heard it open.

"Meg! Meg! Somebody get the doctor!" the woman called out. Letting the door close, the woman returned to his side.

Slowly shaking his head side to side Reese tried to speak but nothing happened. No sound escaped except a groan of pain.

Cool, rough hands touched his face. Their touch stilled him. Slowly the hands stroked his cheeks. Those hands, even though they were rough, soothed him. Eased his anxiety. His breathing slowly returned to normal.

His ears registered someone else coming into the room. The hands that had calmed him pulled away, likely making room for the new person. The loss of that comforting touch was a different type of pain in itself.

A new set of hands touched him. Strong but gentle. Touching the hurting places. He could hear talking but was beyond understand anything. Slowly the pain disappeared and in its place was was a welcoming darkness. Oblivion called to him once more.

* * *

The next time he roused himself, he seemed more coherent and more in control of his body. He was injured. He'd been injured enough times in his life that he knew that the pain he was feeling was from wounds. Gun shot wounds…..just not sure how and why he'd been shot. And his head was a constant dull ache.

He was determined to open his eyes this time. He knew he was in a medical facility, just not sure what type. He didn't hear the constant PA squawking so he figured he was not in an ER in a hospital. He knew there was medical equipment, he could hear some of it nearby AND there was somebody next to him again. It was about time he find out just who was keeping a vigil by his bedside.

The darkness was once again receding. But Reese felt a sadness, an emptiness. He resisted the pull of consciousness. Something was ...wrong. Something was gone.

His body still hurt but now his heart was hurting as well. An ache that was going stronger by the minute. It was a familiar ache, a never ending ache...it had always been there, for as long as he could remember.

Then his memory exploded. NO! NO! She was not gone! She was waiting for him! He promised he'd come to her! NO! NO!

Still sitting by his side, as she had been since Meg finished patching him up, Joan was startled when a groan escaped John. She reached for his hand, clenched into a fistful of sheet. She watched John struggling. He was still deep in his memories. He wasn't aware of her. As she'd done long ago in that warehouse, she made soft soothing sounds to help calm him. She stroked his forehead, willing him to peaceful sleep.

Suddenly she saw a single tear slowly roll down his cheek. His eyes were still closed, but he seemed calmer. She wondered what had caused that moment of weakness in John. He'd always held that part of himself away from others. Locked down, as he once called it. The only other time she remembered seeing John Reese shed a tear was over his former girlfriend...Jessica, was it? Joan remembered how he'd finally been able to tell her about Jessica. That had been the moment of his life that almost killed him. He'd survived multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq and remained strong even as friends died around him. But Jessica owned a place in John Reese that no one else had been able to touch.

Shaking her head slightly, she hoped he would come out of this downward spiral faster than the last time. It had taken over a month to get him to trust her enough to tell him what actually sent him into a bottle. A month filled with him waking in the night, calling out for Jessica, or her waking to the soft sounds of his sobbing. She did remember that his former job in the military or government, he never was very clear about that when he talked about it, had also played a part in his journey toward self-destruction.

The soothing sounds eased his mind from its turmoil. The hand holding tight to his, it grounded him. He felt that there was someone who could help make the pain go away...someone near-by. But his mind was once again exhausted with all the strong emotions he was dealing with...and yet he needed to know who was there with him.

Tightly gripping the hand in his hand, he struggled to open his eyes. The light was so bright. It made his headache. Ache badly. Pain seemed centered above his right eye. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and concentrated on opening his eyes. Once again the light was so bright after having his eyes closed for...how long? His body felt weak, like he'd been sleeping for a long time. Feeling this weak was a strange sensation.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, he concentrated on opening his eyes. Slowly the long lashes moved upward and he was able to handle the light through slitted eyes. A figure was in front of him. He squinted to try and see who it was.

And then...he knew her, the older, disheveled woman holding his hand...she was good to him. She took care of him. She kept the memories at bay. She protected him. It was...Joan.

* * *

Drowning her sorrows in alcohol had never been Zoe's way of dealing with unpleasantness. Giving into the unexpected grief over losing John was cathartic. Acknowledging how important he had been in her life and what he'd come to mean to her was a surprise. But the more memories that flooded back, the more she realized he had been a very big part of her life.

And now he was gone. Sitting up straight and looking at the bottle of Scotch, she realized she did not want to empty it. She did not want that hollow feeling after it was gone. Yes, there would be an easing of the pain, but it would only be temporary. She swallowed the last bit of the scotch in her glass and stood up. Gazing out into the distance, she was surprised to still see the smoke from that explosion that had taken John. From her, and Harold and Sameen...and Lionel. John had affected so many people's lives in such a profound way. She wondered if he ever knew how much he meant to others. Probably not. He always seemed to doubt his own self-worth.

Shaking her head, Zoe picked up the half-empty bottle of scotch and took it back inside. Placing it back on the shelf in the bar in her living room, she stepped back. Smiling, she reached for it and moved it to the center of the center shelf. A place of honor, befitting a man who always kept to the shadows but who was truly larger than life.

She wondered how Harold was doing. Knowing him like she did, she knew he would be consumed with guilt. He'd confided in her one time that he worried about John because he was the one that had convinced John to put his life on the line for people he didn't even know. She tried to convince Harold then that John was doing exactly what he needed to do; that John was a natural born protector and never felt more alive than when helping or defending someone who couldn't help or defend themselves. John had told her once that Harold had given him the most important thing in his life, a purpose, just when he needed it the most. The job had quickly become his reason for being, for existing. And yet she knew this would be what would haunt Harold the most. He probably would need some help in coming to grips with what had happened. Likely he'd need professional help...

Iris! She would probably be the only one who could help Harold! She knew more about John than anyone else, including Zoe herself.

She and John had altered their relationship as his relationship with Iris had progressed. He still would come by and visit or give her a call every so often, just checking in with her and checking on her, she smiled at the thought. Once you came into John's orbit of protection you never left it. He told her about some of the sessions he'd had with Iris. He'd told her that he'd finally been able to talk to someone about his past...all of it, which was more than what he'd done to her. And his continued amazement that none of it had frightened Iris away. Zoe could tell that John was falling for Iris long before he even knew. She worried more about Iris being able to handle John but things had seemed to be ok.

Except for that night about a week ago when he'd dropped by unexpectedly, that is. He'd come up to her penthouse without calling first, which in itself was unusual. He'd walked in and given her a hug like he was holding on for dear life. After giving her a slight kiss on the cheek he said nothing and walked over to the bar and opened a new bottle of scotch and poured himself a shot. Throwing it back in one swallow he lowered the glass carefully to the bar. Playing with the empty glass he stared off in the distance.

"John, what a surprise." she'd said. Watching his body language, which was her stock and trade, she knew John was very troubled. And that was not a good thing. John tended to internalize things, keep them bottled up til they exploded sometimes both figuratively and literally.

Trying to keep things easy until he was ready to talk about whatever was bothering him, she walked around to the other side of the bar and poured him another shot in his glass. Without looking at her, he swallowed the second shot and again carefully placed the glass back on the bar.

"How is Sameen doing since Root was killed?" Zoe asked, watching his reaction.

"She's ok. She's Shaw. She grieves in her own way." he answered quietly. "She's a soldier. She'll carry on." and after a second, "We always do…"

Zoe shook her head and made sure the sigh she was feeling did not come out. Military people have the strangest and strongest rules both in how they live and in how they deal with death. She'd never understand it and never wanted to.

Pouring him yet another shot of Scotch, she then took the bottle and walked over to the couch. Placing the bottle on the coffee table, she sat down on the couch and waited. It didn't take long before he joined her on the couch.

After about fifteen minutes of companionable silence as she watched him and he'd watched the scotch he was gently swirling in his glass, she'd finally asked, "John tell me. Tell me what happened."

Taking a deep breath, and refusing to look at her, he'd said "I broke things off with Iris."

Closing her eyes, Zoe mentally shook her head. As much as she'd worried about Iris, she had to admit that John had seemed happier and more relaxed these last couple of weeks than she'd ever seen him. What could have possibly brought him to this point?

Opening her eyes, she looked at the man sitting next to her. Most people would be fidgeting right now but not John, the more upset he was, the calmer he appeared. "Tell me." was all she had to say.

Haltingly, in a very low voice, he explained his logic for breaking things off with Iris.

None of the reasons made sense to her, but he'd already made the decision to break it off and had done the deed. But he seemed so very sad about it. There was a loneliness about him that she couldn't seem to touch. She just held his hand and they slowly sipped the scotch in silence.

Coming back to the present Zoe realized that Iris needed to be told about John. And it should come from someone who was able to show Iris that she was not alone in her grief. Sameen would be able to give her the hard facts, but Zoe doubted Shaw was equipped to handle the grief that Iris would have. She'd never met her, only knew her from what John had told her. But their break up had been recent enough that she knew that Iris would want to know, and would need to know if she was going to be able to help Harold.

Picking up her phone she called Sameen.

* * *

Shaw roused herself when she felt the vibration of her cell phone in her hip pocket. Raising her head, she realized she'd fallen asleep leaning on the side of Harold's bed. Quickly glancing at him, she was glad to see he finally actually asleep. That subconscious frown he'd had on his face seem to be gone. She hoped he had found some peace in dealing with the loss of Reese.

Reaching for her phone, she was surprised to see she had been holding Finch's hand. That was really out of place for her. She wasn't a 'touchy-feely' type person at all. That was more Reese's department. That thought caught her off guard. She and Reese were so much alike in many ways, and in others they were like mirror images of each other...exact opposites. What had Root called them? Mayhem Twins? Thinking of Root also caught her off guard, actually jolted her.

Pulling her hand out of Finch's, she sat up straight, moved her neck around trying to loosen it up after a night leaning half way on a bed. Eyes wide open, shaking her head, she stood up and reached for her phone. Glad for the interruption to those bothersome thoughts and happy for a return to the real world, she looked at the phone & then answered "Hello, Zoe"

The surprise she felt when she realized it was Zoe quickly turned to appreciation. Zoe was calling about Iris, offering to call and tell Iris about John.

That was one major weight off her mind. She felt that Iris was going to be the one with the most emotional reaction and Shaw really didn't feel up to dealing with that.

She gave Zoe the telephone number and the address.

Hanging up, she bowed her head and shook it slowly side to side. Amazing how something turned out right...in the middle of so much wrong. Zoe always seemed to do the right thing at the right time…...in the right way.

Taking a deep breath she got up and started for the door. Turning back, she was again surprised at how small Finch looked in the big hospital bed.

Time to check on Lionel. Then maybe she could go grab some shut eye, lying prone this time, she thought ruefully as she continued to massage her neck.

* * *

Iris had taken a short leave of absence. She'd needed time away from the station and John. To be 'released' from a relationship was something new to her and very painful in its suddenness. She had fallen hard for John Riley. Her feelings for him were all out of bounds of her profession. It was wrong on too many levels to count, personal and professional. But right or wrong, one thing her training had shown her...you can not deny the heart.

He'd told her enough about his past for her to realize he was following a pattern. He always denied himself for others. The care and protection of others was what gave his life meaning; it was his way of living up to standards set by his father, his hero. The father he lost too young but who gave him an ideal to strive for. She had not been able to pry out of him what happened to his mother and sister, and she'd felt that was so important. Loss had played a huge part in shaping the man he'd become.

She knew he had denied himself a truly loving relationship with Jessica. That he'd felt he was holding on too tight to Jessica, to do the job he needed to do. He needed to have no ties holding him back from giving his all to his job with the agency. He'd stayed with her after 9/11 when he was still in Special Forces, kept their relationship going. But when the CIA came calling, with their warped sense of 'duty to his country and the people he loved above all else', they'd convinced him it would be best to leave her now before something happened to him that could never be explained. Agents who died or were killed in the line of duty never had their families notified. They rarely got that sense of closure that most other military families got. He honestly believed that leaving her was the best for her...and him and his mission, as well.

And that was exactly what he'd done to her. Something was coming. Something he was involved with. Something that would make Detective Riley disappear. He left her before they became even more involved, just so she wouldn't be hurt when he was gone.

But that made her angry. He was taking her decision away from her! He was making the decision for her. He did not have that right! But he had done it anyway.

She needed to decide if what she felt for him was real. If what they had was worth fighting for, that If she could live with the secrets and dark areas of his soul she would never be able to see.

And then she'd gotten the call from the captain of her precinct, surprising her. She was on a leave of absence so it must be something big for her to call.

There had been a massive explosion downtown. A building had been pretty much leveled in the warehouse district. They were on full alert. It looked like the death toll would not be high but there would be fatalities. There were two detectives missing from roll call at the moment...Detective Riley and Detective Fusco. They had last reported in from the area of the explosion. Captain wanted her aware and available if needed, to notify kin or to provide grief counseling.

Hanging up the phone, Iris realized THIS was what John had alluded to. This was the 'something' that he danced around mentioning when they spoke in the park. He must have know his days as Detective Riley were numbered. A tear slipped down her cheek as she realized here would be no one to notify. Because John Riley did not exist.

She sat with her cell phone in her lap. She could not get herself to move. John had left her, broken off their relationship and in the process had broken off a piece of her, the question now was how big of a piece was it?

His 'death' was just a way of leaving completely. Whatever his job was, it had been more important than her and it apparently had been time for him to leave. He hadn't wanted to hurt her...but it had. It hurt and angered her that he took away her chance to truly confront him about their relationship and his 'mission'. To try and get him to ALLOW himself to think of himself first. To feel, to love, to care for someone. But he took that moment away from her. Anger was gaining the upper hand over hurt. That would sustain her.

* * *

Collecting her thoughts, Zoe tried to plan out how she would break the news to Iris. The hardest part was the fact that they had never met. She knew about Iris through Reese but also through her other 'contacts'. She'd always wondered how much, if any, John had told Iris about them.

But that was neither here nor there. She was about to tell someone she didn't know, about a man that they both...loved, a fact that she was still coming to grips with, was dead.

Biting her bottom lip, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her self control was her bread and butter. That was one of the things that made her so good at her job and made her services so much in demand. It was going to take everything she had to stay in control while breaking a heart. Someone that John cared for. He may have broken up with her but she knew personally how much John could become such an important part of your life. That everything you did, and said, and saw was influenced by what he would have thought. What he would have done. What he would have said. She hadn't realized it at the time when they were seeing each other regularly how much he influenced everything, not until they weren't seeing each other regularly. She had found herself wanting to get his opinion about a client's point of view of a situation, his thoughts about trivial things, like a good wine or a movie to go see. That was when she'd realized how important his mere presence had been in her life.

John was old fashioned in the respect that he was a one-woman man. He most definitely was not a player. Once he'd committed himself and to his relationship with Iris, he distanced himself from her. She had completely understood and had no problem with that. That was why they 'worked' so well together. No strings, not commitments, no ties. It was those little things that she missed that had surprised her.

She had always been curious about Iris. Curious about what kind of woman had caught his attention and touched him as no one else has been able to, including her. And now she was going to find out and in the worst possible way.

Opening her eyes, she exhaled and dialed the phone.

The voice that answered surprised her. There was some reserve in the "Hello." The person was obviously concerned but also sounded a bit leery. After all, in this day and age, if an unfamiliar number showed up on your phone, you usually let it go to voicemail. If it was a legit call, they would leave a message, if not, then you probably wouldn't have wanted to talk to the caller anyway. In this case though, it was clear that curiosity had won out.

A second, more firm "Hello?"...

"Yes, I am trying to reach Dr. Campbell please." said Zoe in her most neutral voice. Didn't want to scare her off before she got her attention.

"This is Dr. Campbell, may I help you?"

"Yes, thank you Doctor. My name is Zoe Morgan. I'm a friend of John's." Zoe's voice trailed off.

There was silence on the end of the line. It lasted long enough for Zoe to ask "Dr. Campbell, are you still there?"

"I'm sorry, yes I'm still here." Iris answered but with a little more reserve in her voice. "What may I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could drop by for a moment..."

"Why do you need to come by my home? Wouldn't it be better to talk to me at my office? I"ll be back there tomorrow" answered Iris.

"No, I'd really rather speak to you today, before you go back to work." Zoe's mind was made up. She had to break the news about John's death away from the office. The woman had loved John, probably still did and hearing this news at work, where she couldn't show the kind of grief she'd need to….No, it was best done today and at Iris's house.

"What is this about? Is this about the explosion?" asked Iris.

"I'd really rather speak to you face to face. May I drop by? I can be there within the hour." Zoe persisted, her voice becoming a little more forceful.

That caused Iris to pause. How did this Zoe woman know where she lived? What did she want?

John had mentioned her of course, but he didn't give a whole lot of detail. He wasn't the kind to kiss and tell. As a result, she had been very curious about Zoe.

"Of course, do you have my address?"

"Yes I do. I'll be there in about 45 minutes."

"I look forward to meeting you, Miss Morgan." Hanging up the phone, Iris wondered how Zoe Morgan got her number….and why did she know her address? From John?

* * *

The two women set down facing each, saying nothing. They were busy sizing each other up. Both looking for what John had been attracted to in the other. Trying to decide if they were left wanting...or did they measure up. John had shared a few personal details about his relationship with the other woman but not much. It was just his way. He never saw himself as someone that women wanted. He had always seemed to be unaware of his looks or how he affected others. Outside of the job, he was always upfront and honest with the people he had dealings with, male or female. Iris and Zoe were trying to find that weak spot in the other to help level the playing field. Each one knew the other was important in John's life….but neither knew much about the other. The unknown can be a dangerous thing. There was no pretense between them, neither felt the other was a threat….it was more curiosity about the other. Both women's stock and trade was reading other people….one as a doctor the other as a 'Fixer'.

Zoe finally broke the ice with a comment. "It is very nice to finally meet you. John spoke so highly of you." Zoe's voice was neutral, trying to put Iris at ease.

Iris took a moment before she responded. All her training rose up to help her understand the woman in front of her and why she was here. Her comment seemed open and honest enough. She didn't sense any ulterior motive in her words or her body language. Iris's training had taught her to take in every bit of information someone was giving her, no matter how subtle. Zoe seemed relaxed, leaning back in her seat with her legs crossed. She was dressed impeccably, her clothes expensive and finely tailored. Her hands were graceful and slender with two rings and a couple of bracelets on her wrist. She appeared to be exactly like she was supposed to be: a successful, independent, business woman. So why was she here?

"My pleasure. John also spoke of you many times and your close working relationship." Iris replied. Running her fingers through her long red hair, she appeared much younger than she was. Zoe took in the casual clothes, jeans and a sweater. Bedroom shoes that looked comfortable. The lack of make-up was a little surprising but she was a natural beauty so it worked very well for her. She looked Zoe straight in the eye and didn't seem the least bit cowed by Zoe's professional work personna.

Taking the bull by the horns, Iris asked "Why are you here? Did John send you?" she blurted out. "Does he think I don't understand why he broke off with me? I may not be as worldly as you are but I certainly know how to read between the lines!" she finished, almost breathlessly.

"I don't need you to come here and try to explain why he did what he did. I know exactly WHY." Iris said, with her voice rising. "Just like Jessica he felt he was holding on too tight. That it kept him from doing the best he could at his 'job.'"

Sitting up on the edge of her seat she continued, "He thought it would hurt me if something happened to him. He was right in that one respect. But he should have let ME make that decision! It was my choice if I wanted to take a risk and get closer to him...become more involved with him. He had no right to make that decision for me!" She said vehemently, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "He did not need to send you to explain...or to check on me..." she said trailed off, some of her anger dissipating.

Zoe was taken aback by the fierceness being displayed by Iris. Apparently looks can be deceiving! She would never have thought to see a reaction like she'd just witnessed. It was apparent that red hair made for a strong backbone. She'd come here expecting Iris to be sad or depressed. She knew what it felt like to lose John's attention and concern; what it felt like to be alone after spending so much time with him. But anger? No, that was totally unexpected.

But, that anger may also help her handle the news Zoe was about to give her. She hoped she could deliver it without breaking down herself.

"Yes, I am here about John." said Zoe, watching Iris closely. "And that explosion downtown."

Iris watched Zoe intently, looking for any telltale signs that would alert her that to the truth in what Zoe was saying. All she sensed was that Zoe was hesitant to say just _why_ she was there. That led Iris's thoughts in the direction she'd been leaning already, that this was a way for Det Riley to "disappear". That he had left her for good. Closing her eyes for a moment, Iris exhaled and looked directly at Zoe.

"Yes, that explosion. I assume that was part of 'his job, his mission' that he was so focused on." she said coldly. "So single-minded that he didn't need any distractions...like me..." and her voice trailed off, but the fire still in her eyes.

Zoe slowly shook her head. "No, that is not it at all. I wish it were... I wish it were….." she said softly.

Iris sat back and looked at Zoe. Suddenly she didn't want to hear what Zoe had to say, any more than Zoe wanted to say it.

"What is it? What do you not want to tell me?" Iris asked quietly, suddenly afraid of what she was about to hear.

"John was killed in that explosion."

The words just hung in the air...once uttered, they could not be unsaid...no matter how much either of them wanted.

Iris went very still. Her breathing came in shallow gasps. Her lips pressed closed, refusing to say anything. Control was everything and she was holding onto hers by her fingernails. Locking eyes with Zoe she waited for her to continue.

Zoe was impressed. Iris looked young and vulnerable but there was obviously much more to her than she first realized. She knew Iris was waiting for her to provide details.

"Harold, John's ...um, business associate, um….employer, was there when it happened. He's the one that saw...John go down. He, himself, was injured. He's in the hospital." Zoe explained carefully. She was not sure just how much about his other 'job' that John had told Iris.

"Harold? Business associate?" looking puzzled, Iris was stalling for time so she could come to grip with what Zoe had just told her about John. "What about Lionel, John's partner at the precinct?" Even thinking his name made her gasp out loud. Biting her bottom lip to have something to help cut through the fog threatening to overtake her, her eyes looking everywhere but at Zoe.

"Lionel is ok. He's in the hospital too, but he'll be ok."

Surprising herself with the still strong emotional reaction to losing John, Zoe closed her eyes, took a deep breath once again and held it. Again she felt the tears prickling behind her eyelids. Refusing to give in, she held her breath until she felt she could talk without her voice breaking.

Realizing now that Iris didn't know about Harold, she latched on to that to give her the time to regain her control. And at the same time, give Iris time to regain control too. She recognized the intense inner struggle going on within Iris.

"John and Harold have been working together for a number of years. They are..." searching for the right word was difficult. "They were in the protection business. They learned about bad things that were going to happen and their job was to prevent those bad things." Even to Zoe that explanation was lacking, but she hoped, for the moment, it would be enough.

Iris slowly nodded her head. That sounded vague but it also sounded true. The little that John had told her about his current life, that seemed to fit. Their talks had been more about his past. His dark and troubled past.

Looking up at Zoe, there were tears in Iris's eyes but they had not yet fallen. She was ready to hear the truth...all of it.

"What exactly happened?"

Zoe told her what she knew. Everything that Sameen had told her. In retelling it to Iris she was surprised at how few details she had. She'd been so overwhelmed hearing that John was dead, she didn't even realize how incomplete the information from Harold was.

But her mind would worry about that part later. She was watching a woman slowly fall apart in front of her. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that what she was telling Iris would shatter her world, just as it had hers.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

"Joan?" Reese's voice was raspy from lack of use. It had been a couple of days since the explosion. Joan had seldom left his side except to sleep in one of the other exam rooms. He wasn't sure why she felt compelled to stay with him for so long but he was in no condition to question her.

"Yes John, it's me." Joan answered, gripping his hand tightly. Relief was evident in her face and her voice. Watching him struggle with the extent of his physical injuries and his resulting mental state, had been difficult to watch. But she'd seen him battle inner demons before, while overcoming physical injuries...and she had faith he would get through this as well, one more time. But she felt the outcome was going to be different this time. She wished she knew more about his 'other life', the one he'd kept from her. She felt strongly that there were people out there who cared about him and would be worried and wondering what happened to him.

"Where am I? How did I get here?" John whispered. Looking around at the medical equipment in the room, the IV bag hanging above his head, "I can't afford to be here. I don't have any money."

That surprised Joan. His first thought was that he couldn't afford to be here? The clothes he'd been wearing when they'd seen each other in the past were expensive. He'd driven nice cars, he had looked healthy. Why would he think he couldn't afford to be here?

At that moment, Meg Tilman came in the door. Seeing John awake was a pleasant surprise. She had begun to worry about that head injury as he'd been unconscious since Joan had found him. His physical injuries seemed to be healing fine. It was her concern about a concussion that occupied her mind.

John's reaction to Meg coming into the room was surprising and apparently quite painful. He'd jerked back and away from her, like he was trying to get out of the bed. But the pain of his multiple injuries and the medical devices connected to him prevented his escape. He fell back onto the bed, panting heavily from the pain. The IV tube, the heart monitor, the blood pressure cup and other assorted tubes that had been keeping him alive were stronger than he was at the moment.

"John, you've got to calm down. Your injuries have not healed enough yet for any kind of physical activity. Just lie back and let me check your vitals." Meg said with a smile. She was happy to see him finally awake.

Fear and confusion reigned supreme in Reese's mind. He looked over at Joan who was holding his hand tightly. Joan's smile helped ease the fear but not the confusion.

Who was this doctor? Why did she seem to know him but he didn't remember her? He didn't _think_ she was dangerous but….

Watching Meg check his pulse, feeling her lifting the bandages that seemed to cover almost every part of his body, John kept himself alert and wary. He felt she knew what she was doing but he did not know her or her level of expertise. She called him by name and Joan seemed happy she was there. If she was ok in Joan's mind, then it was ok to let her check his injuries. But who was she?

Feeling pleased that his sudden movements had not undone all her hard work to patch him up, Meg smiled at John and asked "How are you feeling, John? We've been very worried about you."

Still feeling confused, John looked back over at Joan for reassurance.

"I'm ok, I guess." He answered with a frown on his face. "Thank you for taking care of me, but who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?" asking so many questions at once winded him greatly. He closed his eyes to tried to catch his breath. He missed the look of concern that Meg and Joan exchanged. Who was she? Where is here? How did he get here? There were some very obvious gaps in his immediate memory.

Joan decided it was probably better that she answer his questions, since he seemed to remember her, if not Meg.

"John, she is Dr. Meg Tilman. This is her clinic." she waited to see if he heard her. Opening his eyes he looked at Joan, waiting for her to continue. "You introduced her to me when I was hurt one time. You brought me to her clinic."

John turned to look at Tilman. Recognition was not in that look…..there was a blankness.

"John, you helped me once," explained Meg. "Saved me from doing something terrible. Something that would have ruined my life. You stopped me from committing….from doing something very wrong." For some reason Meg felt that saying he stopped her from committing murder would be too much for John to handle right now. She had a strong feeling that his mental state was very fragile.

"As far as where you are, you are in a clinic that you helped me set up." Watching him closely, she still saw no sign of him remembering who she was. This was not a good thing. John had helped her set up the clinic but she had no idea where the money came from. John had always talked about a friend who enjoyed helping friends and that was all she'd ever been able to pry out of him. If he didn't remember her, or her clinic, she felt he probably didn't remember his 'friend' who helped either. A friend who was likely very worried about him at this point after several days missing. This was also not a good thing.

She and Joan had been trying to figure out who they needed to contact about John. Neither had any idea of his other life that he'd kept separate and apparently, secret. They were at a loss of who to notify that he was alive.

Meg recognized amnesia as the culprit. What she didn't know was if the memory loss was temporary or permanent.

* * *

After just twenty-four hours in the hospital, Fusco was ready to go home and sleep in his own bed. Being able to talk to his son made him appreciate how close he'd come to dying. It made him want to spend more time with Lee, get to know him better, because in his chosen line of work he could die very easily on any given day. But these past few months when he'd worked with Reese were a vindication that Reese had been right to take a chance on him. He shuddered to think how his life would have turned out if he'd succeeded in his job at Oyster Bay. He was finally able to look at himself in the mirror every day, proud of the work he was doing instead of having to hide things or write up bogus reports to protect HR. In the end, and that hurt to think it was the end, they had developed a friendship that was built on hard earned respect. John knew more about him than even Carter knew. Even now, after losing his partner and friend, he wanted to keep helping with the numbers if there was a way to continue. He felt it was his duty to honor the man who had given him a second chance at a decent, normal life.

Shaw had been going back and forth checking on Lionel and on Harold. She was at home in the hospital setting but even she was getting antsy. She needed to _do_ something. Being on the move and spending more time outside than inside in the last 10 years had made this level of inactivity bothersome. She found herself getting short with Fusco and even with Harold.

Lionel would be ok once he got home and was able to actually see and hug his son. But Harold was much more of a concern. He seemed to have shut down. He spoke very little, if at all, mainly answering with just a 'yes' or 'no' to questions. He refused to look at anyone; he just kept staring out the window of his hospital room. The doctor said his physical injuries were healing well. But it was his mental state that worried Shaw. She could set a bone or stitch a knife wound closed but problems in the head were not her strong point. She hoped Zoe's meeting with Iris went well. They were going to definitely need Iris's expertise in dealing with Harold's withdrawal.

* * *

Iris sat very still, listening to Zoe explain what she knew about how John died. Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, the only testament to the painful struggle going on inside of her. The anger that had been sustaining her was gone. In its place was a vacuum that refused to be filled. It felt like a part of her was gone; that it something, or in this case, someone, had been torn from her was a physical thing. There was no air in the room, no air to breathe, no reason TO breathe. Panic was setting in. Her eyes searched for a way out, away from the pain that was taking over every part of her but there was none.

Then her eyes fell on a white dress shirt, folded up neatly on the end table next to Zoe. She'd found it yesterday while doing her manic cleaning, 'therapy for what ails you' she always said, of her apartment. The shirt was John's. She'd washed, dried and folded it up, planning to give it to him next time she saw him at the precinct. She reached out one hand in the direction of the shirt, feeling the need touch something of his. Not trusting her legs to hold her, she looked beseechingly at Zoe, pleading with her eyes since she seemed to have no voice. Zoe followed her eyes and recognized one of John's shirts. She reached for it to hand it to Iris. She was surprised at her own reaction upon to touching John's shirt, it brought tears to her eyes as well. She stood up and walked across the room to hand the shirt to Iris.

Iris thanked Zoe with tear-filled eyes and buried her face in the folded shirt. Zoe sat down next to Iris and put her arm around the younger woman, pulling her close and letting her cry. Shared grief was always easier to bear…...as tears once again rolled down Zoe's cheeks.

* * *

Zoe recovered first from the moment of shared grief, having given into her loss earlier, in private. She helped Iris lay down on the couch, still clutching the shirt, now damp with her tears. Zoe went into the kitchen looking for something soothing to drink. Finding nothing but bottled water made her smile and shake her head. She had a feeling that Iris was a little more straight-laced than what John was usually attracted to. But that may also have been part of the allure.

Taking a bottle back into the living room, she set it on the table next to Iris and then sat back down in her original seat, waiting for Iris to speak when she was ready. Looking around the apartment, she was able to get a sense of why John had been drawn here. There was comfort in every corner. A warmth in the family photos in the frames on the bookcase, paintings of landscapes or grasslands and mountains in the background, an obviously well used fireplace.

Her gaze returned to find Iris looking at her with pained filled eyes. Zoe smiled at her.

"Well, this is a certainly a change, the doctor on the couch…." That brought a slight smile to Iris's face.

A bond was formed in that moment between the two dissimilar women. Zoe began telling Iris more about the working relationship John had with Harold.

It was critical that she made Iris understand why it was important that she help Harold. She had a strong feeling it was going to be an uphill battle since Iris showed so much anger toward Harold for 'sending John on his mission to save people and now to his death', accidental or otherwise.

Zoe's obvious love and affection toward Harold at least got her to listen. Still reeling from learning about John, Iris had been resistant to helping Harold. John had never mentioned him to her. Why had he kept that part of his life so secret from her? From the way Zoe explained their 'job' he was responsible for sending John to his death. The fact that he went willingly, on his own, to his possible death, didn't lessen the anger or the pain of loss. The man, Harold, had to know what an offer like the one he'd given, would have meant to a man like John. How such an offer would have seemed like a form of salvation to a man so riddled with guilt over the things he'd done. There was no question John would go despite any danger.

Zoe pushed on, finally getting Iris to understand how important Harold was to John. And finally Iris agreed to check on Harold in the hospital the next day when she checked on Lionel.

* * *

Meg stepped out of the room where she was letting Reese stay while recovering. A worried expression on her face. She was glad she'd been able to take care of all the gunshot wounds that had found their mark, but it had been the head wound that worried her the most. There was no way to actually treat amnesia. She was going to try and wait it out to see if it was temporary or not. At least he seemed to recognize Joan. She would be his anchor. Shaking her head, Meg walked toward her office in the back of the clinic. She was going to have to do some serious research on amnesia if she was going to be able to help John. Thank goodness for the internet!

Joan sat beside John, watching him closely. He held her hand tightly but he looked like he wanted to leap off the bed and run. Run out of the room, out of the clinic and into the streets. There was a wildness, a wariness in his eyes that had not been there until Meg came in. He acted like he didn't know her. But he was the one that had introduced them! He acted like he had no money, but every time she'd seen him in the last couple of years, he had been dress in high quality AND he always came bringing money that he passed out to those in this shelter. He knew her so why would he not know Meg?

"John, John. " she called to him. He turned toward her and gripped her hand even tighter. "Joan, where am I? Why am I hurt?" he said looking down at the bandages on his legs and lower stomach. He tried moving his right arm but his shoulder was immobilized but not enough to prevent the pain of movement. "How did I get hurt? Did they find me?" he looked back at Joan in bewilderment and concern.

"Who found you, John? Do you remember the building that exploded?" Joan asked quietly, searching his face for any kind of memory. There was none.

"Building? What building? Why did it explode? Why would I have been there?" he whispered. Panic was beginning to set in again. "Did I do it?" he whispered.

That question caught Joan by surprise. She honestly didn't know if he'd blown the building up or not. She hadn't thought about it. But the John that she knew would not have done something that would have killed or injured other people, innocent people.

"No, John. You didn't cause the explosion," she paused, trying to decide how much information he could handle at once. Taking in his bewilderment at what she'd already told him, she decided to be as vague as possible. "But you were hurt by it. I found you in the rubble, unconscious and brought you to Meg to take care of you."

"You know her? The doctor? She won't tell anybody I'm here will she?" John whispered his questions, obviously concerned about who might overhear him.

"No John, she's a friend. A good friend. She's taken very good care of you." then remembering his worry about money, she added, "and she's not going to charge you anything."

John looked at Joan and frowned. "Why would she do that? What is she hiding?" John closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow. Fatigue was evident in his face. The confusion and panic had drained what little energy he had. Within moments he had fallen asleep.

Sitting there, holding his hand, Joan watched the strain slowly leave his face. The shadows under his eyes seemed more pronounced since he'd first woken up. Once she felt he was completely asleep, she slipped her hand out of his and stood up. Looking down at him she was surprised at the love she felt for this man who had fallen into her life twice. He touched her in a way she couldn't explain. He had to get better. He didn't deserve whatever had happened to him. He was a good man, a very good man.

Walking away toward the door, she turned and looked back at him. He had to get well. The world needed a man like him; he was too important to lose.

Finding the one nurse who worked with Meg, Joan asked her where to find Meg. She was directed to the back of the clinic. The door was open and Meg was typing away on the keyboard of her laptop. Tapping on the door, Joan walked into the office.

Meg looked up, "Joan! Is everything alright? Is John alright?" she asked. "Do I need to go check on him?"

"No he's fine. He's fallen back to sleep." said Joan. "I think all of the confusion took a lot out of him."

"You are correct. Being hurt that badly, with as much blood loss as those multiple gunshot wounds caused and combined with being unconscious for over 24 hours will make you weak under any circumstances. Add in his confusion. I am surprised he stayed awake as long as he did. But John's always got to be different and prove 'the norm' is not a word you'd use to describe him." she said with a smile.

"What's wrong with him, Meg? Why does he remember me but not you? He doesn't even seem to remember what happened to him! He knows nothing about the explosion or why he was anywhere near it. What's wrong with him?" she asked in a rush.

"I've been worried about that head wound since you brought him in. I was worried about a concussion and apparently he does have one which has caused the amnesia." Turning back toward her laptop, she nodded and said "I've been doing some research on amnesia and I feel confident that is what's wrong. What I don't know is if it's temporary or permanent."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Last night, after Zoe had left, had been rough for Iris. Alone with only her thoughts as companions, made sleeping almost impossible. She was full of guilt over being angry at John and to find out that he was…gone. Dead. God it was hard to even think that! Knowing that there was no future with John was devastating. Even when he'd broken up with her, she'd felt she would at least have still seen him at work. But now…..she'd barely kissed him good-bye. But work had always been her solace, being able to get her mind off of her loss by helping others deal with theirs. She found herself actually looking forward to work.

Walking back into the precinct after being off a few days, Iris was surprised at the energy that pulsed through the main room. Talking was loud and excited. Groups of people stood around in deep conversation. More were sitting at their desks, intent on what was on their screens. There was tension in the air but it was balanced by their eagerness to find out what happened. The captain saw her walking toward her office and headed in her direction. Following her into her office, she shut the door behind her.

"Sorry you had to cut short your time off," the captain began. "But this missile in the middle of NYC is a big deal!"

"That's quite alright, Captain. I want to be where I'm needed." Iris replied. Sitting down in her chair, she put her elbows on the desktop and folder her hands, and looked up at the captain.

"How many people did we lose to the explosion?" Iris was concerned about the effect on people more than where missile came from or who launched it.

"So far we only know of one possible fatality and one injury."

Raising her clasped hands to her mouth she gnawed on her knuckle to help her keep control. "That's very sad about the one death but very good for how bad it could have been." said Iris. Searching for the right amount of professional concern she asked, "Have the families been notified?"

"Detective Lionel Fusco was injured and he's in the hospital. He's been in touch with his family. The one known fatality is Detective John Riley. Can't seem to find anybody to contact about him. His file lists no next of kin." explained the captain. "Feels strange not to have anyone to notify about a death."

The captain knew about their therapy sessions, since she was the one that ordered it, Iris was careful just how much she shared. "I agree. But that may have been why Detective Riley chose a career in law enforcement. He may have felt the need to "create" his own family to take care of. And that there would be no one to deliver such painful news about his death." Fighting to hide the break in her voice, Iris concluded, "If there is no one in need of my services here at the moment, I think I"ll go by the hospital and see Detective Fusco."

"Sounds good. Let me know how Lionel is doing. Tell him I'll be by to see him this afternoon." said the captain walking out, shutting the door behind her.

Iris dropped her head to her hands, releasing the breath she'd been holding. This was going to be much harder than she thought. As she'd found with Zoe, shared grief was a huge help to coming to terms with the loss of John. But fighting to NOT share such obvious grief was unbelievably hard to do.

* * *

Lionel was on the phone talking to his son when Iris tapped on his hospital door. "Come on in." came his booming voice from inside. "Hey son, I gotta go. Finally got some company in this darn place." There was a pause as he listened to his son's answer. "Love you too Lee, love you too. I'll call ya later."

Hanging up the phone, Lionel looked toward the door and was startled to see Dr Campbell. For a moment he was speechless. She was the last person he expected to see. Then he remembered that she was the shrink for the whole precinct and she was probably here to see how he was handling the explosion and his injuries. Then it really hit him. She was probably here as a grief counselor to help him with the loss of his partner.

The pain from that thought caught him off guard. He thought he was handling it pretty good til something brought everything back into focus. Maybe he did need her services.

"Hey Doc, come on in." he said with a tentative smile. "Have a seat"

"How are you doing, Detective? I know you've been in touch with your son and your ex-wife. Have they been here to see you yet?"

"Yeah, talked to my son as soon as I got here. I knew he'd hear about the explosion so I made sure he knew I was ok. Or as ok as I could be with a stab wound. I talked to my EX once on the phone. I was suppose to get Lee this weekend but don't think that's gonna happen."

Suddenly Lionel sat up, he remembered that there was 'something' between John and the doc. The unexpected movement had caused him to groan out loud. Iris sat forward in her chair, reaching for his hand in concern over the obvious pain she saw in his face. "Detective, are you alright? Should I get the doctor?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Just need to take things a little slower." he answered, holding onto his side. Then he really looking at her closely for the first time. She seemed paler than she usually was. There were shadows under her eyes he didn't remember seeing before. And most of all the secret pain he could see in her eyes, the pain that she was trying to hide.

Looking toward the closed door, Lionel reached out and grasped the hand she had offered. "How are you doin' doc? You ok?" he asked quietly.

Lionel's question shook her. That was not a question she thought anybody at the precinct would ask her. She looked at Lionel in alarm.

Skirting around the subject of John was making them both feel ill at ease. He was literally like the elephant in the room that neither was willing, or able to bring up. And yet he was the source of the pain they were both feeling.

"I am fine, thank you detective. Any time you lose someone, no matter what the relationship, it is painful. You've lost your partner, someone you lived with day in and day out. I know this has been rough on you. If you need to talk about it, or anything at all, please know you can call on me. That is what I am here for." She carefully closing the door to any other discussion about herself personally.

"Sure Doc. I know. I've talked to shrinks...um..sorry, head doctors, before. I'll let you know. Thanks for stopping by."

"I'll check back with you this afternoon if that's ok, detective. The captain said to tell you she'll be by later." Iris said has she stood up to leave.

As Iris opened the door, she almost ran into Zoe who had her hand raised to tap on the door. "Zoe!" gasped Iris, surprised and thankful to see her new friend.

"Hello Iris. Good to see you. How's Lionel doing?" Zoe answered as she backed away from the door, letting Iris walk into the hall. Letting the door close, she followed Iris down the hall. She had the distinct impression that Iris was trying to get away from something.

Almost falling into the closest chair in the sitting area, Iris tried to compose herself. She knew Fusco from the department. She knew he was John's partner. Having him acknowledge that she too had suffered a loss was unexpected. But then again it should not have been unexpected because John WAS his partner and there is no closer relationship than between partners in a police department.

She became aware of Zoe taking a seat across from her. Looking up, she welcomed the feeling of friendship and empathy that Zoe displayed with her smile. Being the 'shrink' meant people came to you with their problems but shrinks seldom had someone to go to for their problems. Zoe had become that person for her thanks to that one moment in her apartment.

Before she could actually say anything to Zoe, another woman's voice called out "Zoe! Damn I'm glad to see you!"

Zoe stood up to greet the petite woman coming toward them. The unexpected hug surprised Zoe, since Shaw was not normally a demonstrative person but then again, these were not normal times.

Seeing the dark hair, Iris felt sure she was seeing Sameen Shaw for the first time. John had told her quite a bit about her. She was very curious to meet the woman that John admired so much and yet had aggravated him so much at the same time.

"Sameen, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Iris Campbell." Zoe did the introduction, watching the two women who meant so much to John.

Shaw was her usual distant self at first. By nature she was not a friendly type, always taking her time to decide if someone was worthy of her interest. Seeing the woman that John had finally let his guard down with intrigued her. She was curious to see just what attracted Iris to John.

The three women sat down together in the waiting area. There were no other visitors in the waiting area so they felt free to talk. Sameen filled them in on the medical aspects of Harold and Lionel. Both were physically out of the woods. Their wounds had been treated and each would make a full recovery. Sameen paused and looked at Iris, anxious to get her take on their mental states. She knew she most definitely was not qualified to talk about that.

Iris explained that she'd spoken to Lionel and with just one visit, all she could tell was that he seemed ok but she would know more when she saw him again. She told them she had not even met Harold yet, much less made any kind of assessment.

"Zoe told me about John and Harold's working relationship." Iris said, still fighting for control when she said John's name. "But I really need to know more about the man so I will be able to help him if I think that's what's needed."

Shaw caught the emotion in Iris's voice, even though she had done a masterful job of hiding it. Her eyes took in the red hair pulled back, very little make-up, the casual, tailored clothes that seemed both comfortable and functional, more than stylish. Hearing her voice, it was soft and soothing to the ear. Sameen was caught up in the air of calm, of serenity that flowed from the woman. And then she knew what it was that had attracted John. In their chosen line of work, their livelihood, they lived on the edge, never knowing from one minute to the next what would happen but with Iris it was like the world had slowed down, there was a feeling of peace. Shaking her head, Shaw was surprised at her own thoughts but even more surprised to realize she liked her. She liked Iris. She knew she had made the right decision to enlist her help with Harold…..because Harold was in a very dark place.

Comfortable with her decision, Shaw began to paint a picture of the world that she and John and Harold lived in.

* * *

Walking into Harold's room, Iris was not prepared for the shrunken man in the hospital bed. His face was turned toward the window, he didn't even acknowledge her coming into his room. She had read his chart and knew that physically, he was out of danger and should make a full recovery. But seeing the psychological state that Harold was in, she knew he was feeling the guilt of the damned.

Using the information that Shaw had provided about Harold, his past and his relationship with John, Iris began to try and reach the very sad and obviously heartbroken man. She introduced herself and was surprised at his reaction to her name. He had turned to look at her and was shocked at the intensity of the pain in his eyes. She barely heard him muttering "no no no no no" as he turned his back on her again and seemed to shrink down even further into the bed.

* * *

Harold's mind was a lonely dark place. All he could see, over and over, was the faces of those who were gone because of him. Because of what _he_ had created. Everything and everyone he touched was destroyed. And now the woman that John had finally allowed himself to become involved with, to try and have that normal life they both wanted so badly, she was now in his room! Hating himself even more for ANOTHER life he had destroyed…..he burrowed even deeper into the darkness that seethed in his mind.

He didn't want to talk to anyone, see anyone. He didn't want to eat or drink. In all honesty, he wanted to just slip silently away to join all those others he'd wronged with his poor choices. He just could not live with the grief he felt.

Then Iris came. Oh he knew who she was, knew what she meant to John, and he knew that John had broken things off with her probably because he knew he wouldn't be "coming home". More guilt.

What right did he have thinking he could create something to make a better world? Who was he to think he knew better than everyone else? Nathan was gone, Nathan who had been a friend for so long, who wanted to do the right thing and tell the world. But no, he'd resisted, called him a dreamer and a second rate programmer. He could still see the smile on Nathan's face when he saw him on the ferry….right before it blew up. He could still see Grace's face smiling at him and at the same time, crying because she thought he was dead. And Root, these last couple of years she'd tried to get him to unleash the Machine. But all that had done was turn her into a target, again because of her relationship with him, with _his_ Machine. And John, a man who'd saved him without even realizing it Gone, blown into a million pieces just to save Harold, a man didn't truly deserve to live after all the pain he'd caused to those he loved. That was the most painful of all.

* * *

Finch's response to her presence surprised Iris. He was resistant to her attempts to connect with him. He refused to acknowledge her questions. His only response was to close his eyes and ignore her even more.

Shaw had told her that Harold was aware of her relationship with John, and that he approved of it. That meant he knew exactly who she was and that she would be experiencing grief also. Then it clicked, she realized that he probably felt responsible for her loss and for her grief also. Zoe had told her that Harold was a very private man but seemed to feel deeply for those he was close to. That gave her the leverage she needed to reach Harold in the depths of his despair.

* * *

Iris walked around the bed and sat down in the chair by the window. Finch's face was a picture of abject despair. His eyes were closed, there were tears slowing rolling down his cheeks and his mouth moved with little or no sound coming forth. The frown on his face showed such misery that she ached to brush her hand across his forehand, to try and ease his pain. But that was not the way to start her struggle to save Harold Finch from himself.

She began talking in a low voice, introducing herself. She talked about her job and why she was here, talked about the explosion, talked about his injuries, talked about his prognosis, talked about speaking to Lionel. She got no response from anything she said. She hadn't really expected one. She was just laying the groundwork and getting him use to her voice.

Understanding who this man was in front of her, knowing now what an influence and impact he had on so many lives, especially John's, had given her the very tools she needed. As painful as it was going to be, she had to talk about John's death. Once again, even thinking the words brought tears to her eyes and a physical pain in her chest. Pushing down that strong emotional response she took a deep breath and said "We really need to talk about John."

Keeping herself in check, she watched quietly for a response from Harold. At first she was concerned because there was absolutely no response. Maybe he was deeper into the dark place than she thought. But suddenly his eyes opened as he searched for her face.

Making eye contact with her he whispered, "I'm so sorry. I am so very, very sorry for the pain I've caused you." Closing his eyes he continued, "I am not worthy of your forgiveness."

Iris didn't even acknowledge his last words but continued her one sided conversation. If she ignored his words, it would mean that she didn't agree with Harold. That she didn't believe he was unforgivable. So she continued her one way conversation, talking about John, being careful to keep the things she spoke of in the present tense. Describing his gentle but wicked sense of humor, the seldom seen smile that was so worth waiting for...she mixed in some of the details that Sameen had shared, to keep things current. She found that the longer she talked about John the easier it got.

Harold finally made eye contact with her. But the deep pain she saw there almost broke her tightly held control. She continued her monologue while looking out the window, and glancing back at Harold every so often. She was encouraged that he didn't look away.

From the little bit that she was able draw out of him, she deduced that he felt totally responsible for the deaths of so many people. He believed his ego was their downfall. His belief that he was right and they were wrong caused him to ignore what they were saying…..and that his hubris and pride were what killed them. At least that was what she thought she heard in his words. He muttered and mumbled the little he actually answered her. But he needed different surroundings than the four walls of this hospital room, a different view than the neighboring roof top out of his window.

Patting Harold on the hand, Iris promised to check back on him, saying that he still needed his rest. She barely caught his slight nod, his eyes slowly drooping closed. Standing up she walked toward the door. Looking back at him in the bed, her heart went out to him. He seemed so lost…..so alone. He was feeling John's death deeply. He was taking full responsibility for it…right or wrong. He was taking responsibility for _every_ thing and _everyone_. What he didn't see was that he'd mattered to so many people; that he'd immeasurably changed so many people's fates for the better. She saw it now, what John had seen...This was a man who deserved to be saved, a man who the world could ill afford to lose. But there was much work to be done to help Harold Finch survive.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Iris talked to Sameen and Lionel and they both agreed that Harold would do better out of the hospital. Lionel was chomping at the bit to get out too. He said he would handle the 'details' about how he and Harold were injured. He explained that they'd come upon looters right after the explosion and had been injured trying to stop the stealing. That explained the gunshot wound and the knife wound. There was still so much being investigated about the explosion that their little story passed muster with no problem.

Fusco had a place to go home to his ex-wife said he could stay with her and Lee for a little while til he was back on his feet. But the main concern for everyone was where would Harold go when he left the hospital? Sameen and Lionel talked about the limited places Harold could go. As far as they knew, he lived in the subway, but now the subway sanctuary was gone, the library too was long gone and the only safe house they knew about had been compromised during that last foray with the SAM agents.

All of this was quite surprising to Iris. She knew nothing about a 'subway' hideout. And why was it destroyed? She sat back and watched and listened to them talk. The relationship between the two of them seemed strong but she also got the feeling that their was a 'newness' to it also. There was a whole other world that John lived in that she had not known about. There was so much that she having to learn on the fly.

Shaw finally offered to put Harold up at Root's place, where she'd been staying. It had been difficult for her to make that offer because she enjoyed being alone in Root's home. Root's personal things gave her comfort when she didn't even realize she needed it. But Harold needed a place immediately.

* * *

Iris wondered where Zoe had disappeared to. She was surprised that she had not come in to speak to Harold at all. She felt strongly that Harold needed to see all of them, in person so that he would know that not all of them were lost, that not all were gone, that there were still people in his life, important people, who loved and cared for him. That was essential to getting through to Harold. She decided that even when he was out of the hospital, she would check on Harold twice a day, before work and after work.

Talking to the doctor that was in charge of Harold and Lionel's care the doctor agreed to their discharge since they both had a place to go. Sameen made sure the doctor understood she was more than capable of taking care of their wounds, changing dressings, etc. One or two more days under observation and they could both be released.

Iris's days were quite full. Going in every morning to see patients at the precinct helped her feel like at least part of her life was back to normal. Walking by John's empty desk had been difficult. Once they'd assigned another detective to use the desk it became both easier and harder.

Each afternoon she visited Harold and Lionel in the hospital. She felt she was making some headway with Harold. He responded when she asked him a direct question but hadn't initiated any conversation with her. She had been pleasantly surprised at Harold's wide range of knowledge from art, to literature to couture. It was his interest in books that got the most reaction. But she always brought their conversation around to John's death. Harold still resisted going there but she persisted, slowly and carefully.

She found that if she made a statement that was incorrect or false about John, Harold was quick to correct her. That was when she finally felt she was making progress, was finally getting him to talk about John. Some of the stories he related made her smile because even though the story was new to her, she could very easily see the John that Harold described.

Lionel proved to be a little more difficult to get to talk. Fusco had a man's natural resistance to showing any weakness. Discussing things going on at the precinct and some of the friends he had there, Lionel slowly loosened up. He talked about working with John and how he spent as much time trying to "explain Riley" to others as he did 'covering up' for Riley…...but John always seemed to get the job done. His admiration of John was quite evident. He seemed to think that John was invincible. Even his nickname for him, Wonder Boy, showed he viewed John as 'more than human'. It was the underlying pain that Iris noticed when Lionel was telling a story about how John handled a dangerous job or the gentle manner he used on someone in pain or scared. She knew she would eventually get him to talk about how he felt losing John…...just not yet.

Finally the day came when the doctor agreed to release Harold and Lionel. Both Iris and Sameen couldn't have been happier. They had become regular 'nodding acquaintances' when they'd pass each other in the hall going from one room to the other. Comparing notes seemed to help their relationship also.

There was something sad about Sameen that Iris felt was due to more than simply losing John but she couldn't put her finger on it. Sameen was not one to talk about herself so Iris knew she'd have to figure it out herself, likely by asking Harold and/or Lionel. But not yet. Her plate was pretty full at the moment.

Zoe had been by to visit both men. She was like a force of nature all by herself. She walked into Harold's room unannounced, bringing donuts and, of all things, sencha green tea. Iris had been pleasantly surprised at Harold's reaction to the tea and donuts. Watching him closely, Harold sipped his tea with eyes closed. A slow smile appeared on his face. Looking up at Zoe, he smiled for the first time since that day on the roof.

Looking back down at the box of donuts Harold looked surprised. "Bear" he whispered. "Bear….dear heavens where is Bear?" His frantic gaze returned to Zoe.

Zoe smiled calmly back and said "Bear is fine. He's with Leon." Finch visibly relaxed and reached for a donut.

Sameen came in and announced that Harold and Lionel had been released and could go home today. That news was met with strong approval all around. Sameen grabbed some donuts and went to go spread the good news with Lionel. Zoe offered to drive Harold to Sameen/Root's place. She left to go get the car.

Wheeling Lionel down the hall, Sameen was greeted with a teenager running down the hall yelling "Dad!" at the top of his lungs. He was a young man but seeing his dad after almost losing him turned him into a little boy who loved his dad. Backing away, Sameen let them enjoy their family moment. Hugging Lee, Lionel's eyes filled with tears. He once again realized how close he came to never being able to hug his son again.

Looking over his dad's shoulder, Lee looked up and saw Sameen. A huge grin broke out on his face. He remembered her when she'd rescued him from some very bad men. She was totally badass in his eyes.

Lionel's ex-wife introduced herself and took over the wheelchair and headed out to the car and home. Before they left, Sameen leaned over with a 'barely there' hug. Lionel looked up at Sameen, "You keep me in the loop with how Glasses is doing and how you're doing too."

She gave him a mini-salute and nodded.

Walking over to Harold's door, she tapped lightly. She heard Iris call for her to come in. Opening the door further and peering inside she was glad to see that Harold was up and dressed and in the wheelchair, ready to go. Raising one eyebrow as she looked at Iris, she was pleased to see an answering smile from Iris. Nodding her head, Iris said "Harold got himself up and dressed today. I think he's ready to go home as much as Lionel was".

At the mention of Lionel's name, Harold looked at Sameen but said nothing. "Yes Harold, his EX picked him up with Lee and he's staying there for a couple of days."

Watching his reaction to that, she continued, "and you are going to go home with me….to Root's place. I've been staying there since….." Making a face, she tried again. "We're going to be roommates for awhile. The subway kinda got blown up so you can't go back there."

Iris gave her a wide-eyed look when Shaw just blurted out that the subway, Harold's former "home" had been destroyed. Iris couldn't believe Shaw would just throw that out there with the fragile state that Harold was in! Giving her head a light shake side to side she caught Sameen's eye.

Shaw looked her with a look of innocence, 'What?' look on her face, truly puzzled. She was just giving Finch the facts about why he was going to have to come stay with her. She was totally oblivious to the reaction her words had on Harold.

Finch had bowed his head and broke eye contact as soon as she'd said Root's name. Looking worriedly at Sameen over Harold's bowed head, Iris gave a slight shrug and patted Harold on the shoulder to reassure him that it was ok.

Once Iris helped get Harold into Zoe's car with Sameen, she was at a loss of what to do next or even where to go next. Going to the hospital twice a day and putting in a full day at work had helped keep her mind and body occupied this last week. But her personal breaking point was near the surface.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Every time Meg came in to check and change his bandages, Reese would stare at her. Trying to force a memory of her to his mind. Joan had told him of their 'relationship' but he remembered nothing. Meg smiled and made small talk, trying to bring up moments from when they first met, in a self-help group for survivors who had lost loved ones due to violence. She talked about their talk at the diner when he convinced her to give up the keys to the van. She mentioned the numerous times they met for coffee when he'd check up on her.

Her favorite memory she shared with him was his offer to set up a clinic for her, a life long dream of hers. She had been totally shocked but also amazed that he had understood how much she wanted to reach out to those who would not/could not come into a regular ER. She went into detail about how the two of them searched for the area most in dire need of a clinic. It only took three trips to find the right place and then the right building. She reminded Reese that he never told her where the money came from, just that it would continue to flow until SHE decided to close the clinic. All of which left Reese with a headache every time from trying so hard to remember, but nothing she said sounded familiar.

Joan also tried to help him with his memory. He remembered waking up in a warehouse while she was tending to him. She took very good care of him, not putting too many demands on him til he was able to handle things both physically and mentally. That had been the hard part because living on the streets didn't really allow for someone to take care of more than just themselves. You literally lived hand to mouth. He remembered learning to survive on those streets. But when he tried to remember leaving her, getting off the streets, there was just gray. Almost like a wall that he could not see through. Frustration was beginning to hamper his recovery.

After a couple of days, Meg started gently pushing him to get up out of the bed, to at least sit in a chair for a couple of hours. Anymore time on his back and he' be too weak to move. And she knew he was going to have to leave the clinic soon, she needed the exam room he was in. Joan had already had to give up the exam room she'd been in the first two days. Problem was, John had no place to go. His wounds were too severe for him to go back to the streets with Joan. And he didn't even remember where he lived. Just another problem to solve for the mystery that was John Reese.

Getting John out of the bed was easier than Meg thought it would be, considering his injuries, but Joan was not surprised. There was an inner strength to John that she had seen long ago. When he put his mind to something, nothing would stop him...not even bodily injury that should have killed him. Between the two woman they were able to sit him up on the bed. After waiting a few minutes for him to get his bearings, they worked to help him stand. The only sound Reese made was a quick intake of breath to stifle the groan that threatened to escape. Clenching his eyes closed and gritting his teeth, he put arms around both their shoulders and stood all the way up.

Both women watched him struggle against the pain in his legs and his lower stomach, but he persevered.

"OK" he whispered as he opened his eyes. "Let's try for the chair."

Slowly, with small, staggering steps the three of them made it the few feet over to the chair. Biting his bottom lip, Reese slowly turned around til the chair was behind him. Joan and Meg carefully held his forearms as he lowered himself to the chair. A collective exhale could be heard by all three. A slow smile spread across John's face as he looked up at the 2 women who had been taking such good care of him. "Thank you both." then he leaned back carefully in the chair.

Meg gave him instructions to try and sit there at least an hour, longer if possible, before getting back on the bed. And most important of all, to get her or the nurse to help him back to the bed. "You're too big for Joan to handle by herself. If you go down, she goes down. Understood?" Both John and Joan nodded.

* * *

Harold settled in rather nicely at Root's home. It was a brownstone in downtown Manhattan, slightly off the beaten path. Nice and quiet with a small patio garden in the back. There were two bedrooms and a small kitchen, with a table, chairs and a living area. It was small but comfortable.

Harold smiled to see some of the same items here that Root had also had in her room in the subway: the lava lamp, the shag carpeting. But his smile faded when he remembered she was gone. Lost because he would not listen to her about The Machine. And his resistance killed her as surely as if he had been the one to pull the trigger. He had handcuffed The Machine too much. It couldn't do what it 'knew' needed to be done. It couldn't protect itself and its assets. Then another, even stronger, pain rolled through him as he thought of John on that roof top, sacrificing himself when it should have been him.

Zoe and Sameen helped him getting to his room. Walking back into living area, the two sat down to do some planning. Sameen was concerned about leaving Harold alone. She was getting numbers from the Machine now and they were worried when she'd have to leave him. Both felt concern about him being alone. He was still so wrapped up in his guilt, he might prove a danger to himself. Zoe reminded Shaw that Iris seemed to have finally connected with Harold and was sure she'd be glad to check on him daily while continuing his 'therapy'.

So far, Sameen had done ok by herself working the numbers but she looked forward to having Lionel back at work and being able to help her with them. They had gotten even closer during Lionel's time in the hospital. Shaw would talk to him about the number she was working on and even if Lionel wasn't able to physically work the numbers, he was able to give her some good insights. Each of them had worked with John closely as partners and both were feeling his loss each and every day. Their shared loss had brought them closer together. Exchanging stories about Broody Boy/Wonder Boy actually helped them bond. Both were able to talk freely to the other and that went a long way in helping both of them deal with his death. They recognized each other's grief and respected it. John had been too important in their lives to ever forget him.

* * *

John sat quietly in the chair, trying to keep the pain from completely taking over him. It had eased up some in the last 24 hours or so, but the move from the bed to the chair almost had him screaming in pain. Everything was hurting again, non-stop. His legs felt on fire, his stomach made him want to double over, his shoulder ached so badly he wondered if it was worth cutting it off. And his head felt too big for his body. He was dizzy from the change of position but a gray fog threaten to overtake him.

Fighting to stay upright and awake, John searched for something to talk about with Joan. Turning to look at her, he was surprised to see she was smiling at him.

"What do you want to talk about John?" she said with a gentle smile. She knew him well enough to know he was hurting and he was looking for something to take his mind off of it.

"What made you choose me? What made you decide I was worth your time and energy when you first found me?" he asked with a slight head tilt, at least that didn't make his head throb too much worse.

"Choose you for what?" Joan asked, clearly puzzled by his question.

"Seven years ago, when you literally picked me up off the floor in that warehouse, instead of letting me die from that beating. I wanted to, you know, die that is. Why did you do it?"

The question surprised her. He'd never asked that before. She wondered what he would think if she told him the truth. But she'd always been truthful with him….best to continue…...and see what happens.

"I chose you because of my son."

John looked at her in surprise. In all the time he'd known her she'd never mentioned a son.

He kept quiet and waited for her to explain.

"I haven't always lived on the streets, you know. Circumstances put me there….but that's another story. My son and I lived on the streets during his teenage years. The worst possible time in a young man's life. He got mixed up with a bad group and got arrested."

Pausing for a moment, Joan was seeing her son's face in front of her. Dark hair, gray eyes, shy smile that she didn't see often enough. Shaking her head she brought herself back to the present.

"Sorry about that. Sometimes the memories get the best of me."

"Trust me, I understand that all too well."

"Anyway, we didn't have money for a lawyer, so one was appointed. Not a very good one. The judge offered my son two choices….jail, up to 5 years…...or go into the military. For once he was smart...he chose the military."

"What branch?"

"Army. He served two tours in Afghanistan. He got injured and was medically discharged. He came home a very different person. He couldn't handle living on the streets again. He didn't like being around a lot of people. The noise drove him crazy. Certain sounds would send him off running in the night. He needed help but he wouldn't go get it. It got bad enough that we were asked to leave the group we were living with. He was fighting any and everybody over just about anything." she said as her voice trailed off again.

She hadn't thought about that time in quite awhile. It was painful to remember even now. But to actually put it into words, to talk about her son, not just remember him, but to think about him, was more difficult than she'd imagined. So many memories and images flooding her mind.

Reese moved a little bit in his chair trying to find another position that didn't hurt so much. His movement caught Joan's eye and she immediately went to him.

"Are you ok? Do you need to get back in the bed?" she asked.

"Might not be a bad idea. I've sat up over the two hour time limit the doc set."

"OMG..I didn't realize it! I was supposed to be watching the clock!"

She reached for John's arm to pull him up but he resisted. "Remember she threatened us if we didn't get somebody to help." he grinned.

Exasperated, Joan got up and went to the door, opened it rather fiercely and looked for somebody to help move John. The nurse saw her and came immediately. Between the two of them they were finally able to get Reese back into bed.

After everything had settled back down, John gently pushed Joan to finish her story.

"One of the times he lost his control, he hit me. Not hard, but enough to knock me down. He was so upset about that that he promised he'd go get help."

Telling that part of the story had been painful. No woman, no mother wants to admit their child hit them. But John had proven to be the perfect listener. So she continued.

"He went to the VA and they diagnosed PTSD. Bad thing was, they loaded him up with drugs to numb the pain of his memories. Every night when he'd go to sleep, he was right back over there, in Afghanistan. The pills they gave him helped take the edge off during the day for a while. But he almost became a stranger, like a walking Zombie. He didn't like feeling or acting that way so he'd quit taking his meds. That was the worst thing he could have done."

Joan stood up and started pacing in the small exam room where Reese slept. Memories of that long ago time still felt fresh.

"Coming off those heavy drugs the VA had given him changed him. He was nothing like my son, my baby boy. He became very paranoid and hyper sensitive to everything. There were times he couldn't stand to have clothes on because they itched. He'd scream and rant toward whoever was near him for some imagined reason. He attacked Big John, who is the boss of our group. It took four members to pull my son off him. He'd beaten him almost to death." Hanging her head down, tears rolled down her weathered cheeks.

"The group ran him off. He was not allowed to live with our group again. Without me to remind him, to watch over him, he fell further and further behind in his meds. I never saw him but I heard about him. It broke my heart that there was nothing I could do to help my only child."

"I kept hearing horrendous stories about what he was doing. They told me he was either picking fights with anybody over nothing or was drowning in cheap liquor. I couldn't even FIND him to try and help." Joan's voice broke.

John immediately regretted asking her about why she chose him all those years ago. He never suspected that the reason would tear Joan apart. Joan had always been the calm center of any storm.

"Joan, please….please, you don't have to tell me any more. I didn't mean to upset you." begged John

Sitting in the chair that John had just vacated, Joan sat with her head bowed, twisting a ragged piece of cloth in her hands. Silent tears falling on her hands.

"No John, you need to know. And it actually is a relief to tell you. I don't think I could have told you before; it was too fresh" whispered Joan.

Taking a deep breath and wiping her tears away with the cloth, Joan looked back up at John. So many memories…..all crowding together, overlapping each other, it was hard to focus on just one.

"I didn't see or hear from him for about a month That had happened before but not for a whole month. Finally one of the men in our group came looking for me. The police needed to talk to me. I knew it was going to be about my son. You know what they say about a mother and her child. And it was…."

Joan stopped for a moment, trying to keep it together. This was the part that hurt so much, an ache that would never fully be gone.

"They needed to take me to the morgue. They had fished a man's body out of the river. He had jumped off the bridge…...he had committed suicide. The people that had called the police had told them where to find me. They wanted me to identify….the body" Joan's voice broke again as more tears came to her eyes.

"It was the damn PTSD and the lack of help for treatment by the VA. They didn't follow up on him, nobody made him take his meds or go to meetings. He was left on his own and it killed him. And I wasn't there to take care of my son. My one job as a mother and I failed. I let my son down…..I let my son die." Joan's voices ended in a whisper.

John reached out with his good hand and grabbed her rough hand. A hand that had dug through garbage to survive but at the same time took care of him when his was hurt and beset by the guilt of the damned. He owed her everything. He wished he could have put his arms around her and hold her close but with his injuries, the best he could do was hold tight to her hand while she cried.

As Joan slowly calmed down and dried her tears she looked up at John.

"I chose you John because you reminded me of my son. You were lost, you were in pain….physically and emotionally in pain. I knew you didn't belong down there in that warehouse. You were someone worth fighting for. And I used everything I could to bring you back from that very dark edge you were standing on. Taking care of you allowed me to do for you what I never got a chance to do for my son.

"I may have saved you John…...but you also saved me too." she whispered, holding his hand.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The days had settled into a routine, a pattern, that seemed to work for everyone. Each was able to heal and deal at their own pace. But they could and did reach out to each other with just a phone call.

Sameen and Lionel had formed an unusual working partnership. For the moment, she was the legs and he was the brain in handling numbers. Lionel tried to talk to Harold at least every other day. At first, he could barely get Harold to respond to him but Lionel was anything if not persistent and slowly wore down the wall that Harold had built around himself. The calls themselves were not so much substantive as they were a gesture of friendship and concern that finally seemed to get through to Harold.

Sameen was with Harold every morning and evening at Root's place, where they were both were staying. The first couple of days he was out of the hospital, Sameen stayed close, making sure he took it easy, and changing the dressing on the gunshot wound all while _trying_ to get Harold to do his rehab. Unfortunately, Sameen's kind of "motivation" pep talks demonstrated her lack of a bedside manner and why she'd never became a doctor. Add that to the fact that they needed to solve the problem of feeding them both and tempers were deteriorating quickly. For someone who loved to eat, Sameen didn't do "hangry" very well nor was she a very good cook.

That was where Zoe came in. She was a surprisingly GOOD cook. She came by every other day and cooked up something good to last a couple days. If she wasn't able to drop by, she'd have food delivered. She found that surprisingly, considering her career choice, she enjoyed visiting with both of them.

Every morning, Iris would drop by to check on Harold before going to the precinct. And then again on her way home in the evening. She was enjoying getting to know Harold. His wide range of interests was a pleasant surprise. Slowly but surely, with gentle coaxing, Iris was getting Harold to relax around her. At first he'd been withdrawn and difficult to reach. During every visit, there was a small mention of John…..sharing a moment she'd had with John or getting Harold to 'correct' something she said about John and it would get the conversation going. Each time it seemed a little bit easier for Harold to talk about John. Getting him to talk about what his loss meant to him, was proving to be a little bit tricker. He tended to shut down again when he was pressed.

Lionel was still at his ex-wife's place recovering but he figured he was about ready to go home. He missed his old bed. And he and his ex were just about to start getting on each other's nerves. He enjoyed the 'home' feeling of waking up and smelling breakfast cooking. The times he spent with Lee in the evenings were the best. But he was ready to go home.

Harold was slowly beginning to look forward to the visits from Iris. They had settled into a warm, comfortable acquaintanceship that was fast turning into a friendship. Respecting his strong need for privacy, Iris would get him talking about things that he enjoyed. Their mutual love of books had been the best surprise of all. Both had eclectic taste in literature. Fiction or non-fiction, they would discuss it at length. Iris believed that getting someone's impression of a book provided a good insight into that person themselves. What a person focused on in a book told a lot about that person's previous experiences and their thought patterns. More and more, Iris looked forward to her visits almost as much as Harold did.

One particular visit was quite eye-opening and showed progress in Harold's ability to open up and relate to someone…...in this case, Iris. Harold had mentioned a few times about growing up with his father, but seldom mentioned his mother. But while discussing one particular book Harold offered a glimpse of the woman he seldom spoke of.

Iris was pleasantly surprised to find out that Harold's mother had been a librarian. There had been only the one small library in the town where he'd grown up. He'd spent many an afternoon, as a young boy, in the library after school with his mother. He was often on his own in the afternoons, waiting for her to close up so they could drive the 15 miles to their farm outside of town. With very little to do in the small town, the library, with all its stories and worlds between the covers of the books, became a haven for Harold. He devoured books of all genres. Some his mother suggested to him…..about art and music, and others, he discovered on his own but regardless, they opened up worlds that growing up in the a very small town like they had, he never would have experienced. From those new worlds he branched out into history and other related areas. The daily drive home with his mother was always full of discussions about what he had read that day and what he had learned. His mother's love for books was deeply ingrained in him at an early age. She was a woman who dreamed of traveling the world but had stayed with the man she loved, who was happy in his little corner of the world.

When Iris asked about where his parents were now, she was concerned when she saw that sadness return to his eyes. It had been slowly receding these last couple of days but the shadow of depression was still there. Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts, Harold let his mind flow back into the past that was poignant to him even today.

"When I was 10 years old, my mother was killed in a car wreck coming home from the library. I should have been in the car with her, since I spent my afternoons in the library. But I had been sick and had stayed home from school that day. She died alone. It had been a hit and run. No witnesses. They said she lived for awhile before succumbing to her injuries. Nobody knew to look for her until my father came in from the fields that evening and wondered where she was."

Harold closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Iris could see the pain etched on his face as he remembered that day. "My father called the police and then went looking for her himself. He was the one that found her. He was never the same after that. It was just the two of us. I did everything I could to help take care of the both of us. But I was only 10 years old."

Iris stayed quiet, letting Harold decide how much more he had to say. Learning about his mother added another layer of complexity to an already complex man. Sameen had warned her that Harold was a very private individual and was very selective of what information about himself he was willing to share and with whom he shared it. Iris knew this revelation was a major step for him.

Once again Harold fell silent. He hadn't thought about that day in a very long time. His father never wanted to speak about it. It had been buried deep inside. That 10 year old boy had died that same day as his mother. He'd needed to talk to someone about her death, but there had been no one. So he took comfort in the only place he could…..the library. He began researching and reading anything he could about death and how to deal with it. He suffered his own depression while his father suffered his. They could have helped each other but neither knew how to reach out to the other. And Harold finally found a name for what he was feeling and what he was dealing with. Giving it a name helped him handle her loss but it came at an extreme cost.

Turning to look at Iris, he was comforted by the calm and open look on her face. There was a trace of pity but nothing like he feared. One of the reasons he'd always had trouble speaking about the loss of his mother was the look of pity on people's faces. That had only made him even more leery of trying to discuss it. So he had decided long ago to stop speaking of his mother and what her loss meant to him and his father.

"You know the internet is just an outgrowth of a library. There is something about doing your own hands-on research, searching through books, finding information that would lead you in another direction …..that typing words into a search engine just can't touch."

That made Iris smile. Here she was talking to one of the most brilliant minds in computer science and he was talking about his love of books. Shaking her head side to side, she met Harold's eyes. Tilting her head slightly to one side, she invited him to continue.

"My research for the help I needed gave me something to do. Help for myself but most of all help for my father." Harold continued quietly.

"For me, finding the name for what I was experiencing gave way to a whole other world but no real cure. I don't think there actually is one….."

"What did you find Harold?" Iris felt that this was going to be the key to unlocking Harold's depression and most of all his guilt. Holding her breath, she tried to stay relaxed but wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say "Tell me! Tell me what I need to know so I can help you! " because she also knew that helping Harold deal with his grief was helping her deal with her own grief over John's death.

Looking away from Iris, Harold stared out the window. Gathering his thoughts once more, he finally put into words that aching feeling that he'd experienced before. This was the third time and he was no closer to dealing with it now as he had been in the past.

"Survivor's Guilt" The pain he felt just saying those words let him know that he was still trapped inside that blackness..

Those two words were not really a surprise to Iris. She'd felt from that first day in the hospital that was what was causing his withdrawal from everyone around him. She knew he felt guilty over John's death. But connecting all the way back to a 10 year old boy surviving his mother's death, let her know why it had such a strong pull on Harold in the here and now.

Iris was being careful with the questions she asked Harold. She kept them open ended, and made sure to ask questions that need more than just a 'yes or no' answer. Slowly a clearer picture was forming about the hidden depths of what drove a man like Harold. The true surprise came during another moment of survivor's guilt. Harold began telling her about his former college friend, colleague and business partner Nathan Ingram. And once again, Iris could recognize the lashes left behind from scourge that was his survivor's guilt.

Iris felt that Harold had told her more than he'd told any other person. They'd already touched on the dementia that his father had gone through. The fact that he'd lost his father long ago, long before he had actually died. Their last connection was through watching birds together on the farm. When his father lost the ability to safely work the farm, Harold had told her about evenings sitting on their porch watching the different birds migrating north to south and back again months later. It became a game to see who could identify a particular species first. When his father even lost even that ability, when his thoughts would stutter and restart while trying to name a bird, that was when Harold knew his father was gone from him, despite the fact that he was sitting next to him on the porch. It had been interesting that he'd had his father with him much longer than he'd had his mother, but his father's slow mental decline had allowed him to be with his father til the predictable end…..even though he had to watch him from a distance. Harold never explained why he couldn't be with his father in person. Iris felt that was something to discuss another time. But it did explain his use of different bird names for his last name. Sameen had mentioned that he used different aliases and that they always were bird names. But she apparently did not know why. Now Iris did. The bird names connected him to his father, like his love of books connected him to his mother.

"Harold, survivor's guilt is real. There is no easy fix. It affects different people differently, in many different forms. The best treatment so far has been to recognize what it is, and then try to talk it out. Explain why you feel that way." Iris paused for a moment. She knew the next couple of words would have a strong impact on Harold's mental health, so she chose them carefully.

"Actually 'talking' to the people you lost, explaining to them how you feel, how much you miss them….apologizing to them…. seems to be the best approach to dealing with something you can't change….that YOU did survive".

Harold turned to look at Iris. He felt like she was giving him the answer that he had been looking for since he lost his mother.

"Apologies have a way of freeing you, either for your actions, your words or even your inaction, for when you'd stayed quiet when you should have spoken up. Putting into words what you have been feeling seems to shed light into a very dark place you have been hiding inside."

Knowing that Harold was an intelligent man who didn't need things spelt out for him, Iris decided that now was a good time to leave Harold alone with his thoughts. She felt she'd pointed him in the right direction. It was now up to him what path he would follow.

Standing up, she gathered her things to leave, and for the first time, she walked over to Harold, leaned down and gave him a light kiss on his cheek. Smiling down at him she said she'd see him that afternoon after work.

After Iris left that morning, Harold made himself a cup of Sencha green tea. Smiling to himself as he took his first sip, he was thankful every time for Ms. Morgan bringing some for him. He didn't remember ever telling her about the tea, so it must have been John. Once again, an unexpected memory of John, bringing him his tea in the library brought on the deep sadness he had been fighting. But Iris seemed to have given him hope in eventually being able to handle his part in the death of so many dear friends….

* * *

For this first time since coming to stay at Root's home, he decided it was time to go outside. He found a thermos and made more tea. Taking the thermos in hand and working his way carefully down to the ground floor and out into the small garden patio was more tiring that he thought it would be. He sat down at a small table in the sun. The warmth of the sun and the soothing taste of his favorite tea relaxed him greatly.

Thinking back to the discussion he'd had with Iris, he realized that maybe she was right. Maybe he did need to 'ask for forgiveness' for surviving. He'd been so guilt ridden all he had ever done was hate himself for living when someone he loved died. Maybe he did need to ask, to put into words all those feelings that he'd kept buried all those years.

Talking about his parents to Iris had been difficult but she was such a good listener. She invited him to speak from the heart without judging him. That was her greatest gift…...she was totally non-judgemental over the things he'd told her about his past. That was what John had told him when they'd discussed Iris, and he was right. Nothing seemed to shock her. She seemed to take the things he'd shared as just parts for what made him the man he was today.

Sipping his tea. he began an internal conversation with his mother. Telling her how much he missed her, how much he'd enjoyed his days in the library with her and especially the rides home. That immediately brought up the feelings of guilt when she had been alone in the accident that had killed her.

He found himself whispering to her, telling her how sorry he was for not being there with her that fateful day. That if he HAD been with her maybe he could have gone and gotten help for her in time. Tears slowly ran down his cheeks. The more he talked to her, apologizing again for not being there in her hour of need, the better he felt. The heaviness in his chest, that he had carried for years seem to ease with every word he spoke. A very different Harold Finch limped back into the building than the one who had entered the garden.

* * *

Lionel made it back to work after a week. But only for half days. He still tired easily and had been restricted to desk duty. Everyone seemed glad to have him back, many stopping by his desk to welcome him back. Seated across from Reese's old desk, which had been Carter's before that, had been difficult until he saw the new detective sitting across from him. It was a woman. She had immediately introduced herself as Maria Vasquez. After an exchange of pleasantries she sat down and began the never ending paperwork that was half the job of being a detective. Seeing her hard at work on the paperwork had made Fusco smile. John did everything he could to avoid paperwork, he hated being behind a desk. His smile was tinged with sadness. Everytime he saw something or did something that made him think of his former partner it was a sharp pain of remembered loss. Iris had told him that the more he talked about John the easier it would be. Turned out she was right, it was easier but still a surprise. Maybe it was the fact that he never really got to say goodbye…...or to say thank you.

He was surprised to find out just how much he missed Reese. The man he'd once called the bane of his existence. They had had such a tumultuous relationship these past 5 years. Reese had seen him at his worst, when he was a hired hand for HR, hiding behind loyalty as reason to do the things he had done. But even then, John had seen something in him worth saving. After all he had done, he still didn't know how John had been willing to give him a chance…given him a chance to save himself. In the end, John had made him look in the mirror and decide for himself if he was worth it.

The time he had spent recovering at his ex-wife's place had opened his eyes to the young man his son was becoming. Thanks to Reese he would be there to watch him grow into a man. A man who could be proud of his father.

Being back at work also gave him access to information to help Shaw work the numbers. With Harold out of commission, he was the one getting the background and intel that he and Shaw needed. Working with her helped him feel that he was making a difference and helping fill part of the gap left by Reese's loss. There had been moments when he and Shaw both realized they were thinking about how John would have handled a situation and were glad they had each other to 'understand' those moments without having to put them into words. Neither of them were very good at explaining themselves to others.

Shaw's days and nights were filled with working the numbers. The week she had spent going back and forth between Harold and Lionel when they were both in the hospital had almost driven her mad. She needed the physical activity to keep herself busy. She admitted to herself that being able to hear Root's voice was a big part of her continued willingness to work the numbers. She knew it was not Root, but The Machine had seemed to have taken on a lot of Root's personality in the way it talked to her. There were times she swore it even teased her. Those moments always caught her unaware and drew her up short. But as time wore on, those moments made her smile instead of making her throat tighten up …..

She was glad Lionel was back at work. It was good to call him for information instead of having to go back to Root's place and collect info on her laptop. Things were working out smoothly. They made an unlikely partnership that seemed to work very well. It helped that she could give him a look and he knew what she was thinking instead of her having to explain it. Words were not her strong suit….at least not when emotions were involved.

Having Harold stay with her had been a little harder to handle. She liked her privacy. She had liked having Root's place and Root's things all to herself. But she cared about Harold and she liked being able keep tabs on him during his recovery. Zoe and Iris had been a God's send for the emotional support he needed while she took care of the physical part of making sure the gunshot wound was healing correctly. Life had settled into a routine that seemed to be working for all of them in the aftermath of the sacrifice of John Reese.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Physically Harold was almost completely healed. The moments of depression were getting fewer and farther in between. The biggest difference was that it was easier to bring him out of his depression. He seemed happy to see Sameen when she came home. He didn't question why he was staying with her, and never mentioned The Machine or the numbers. Lionel and Sameen had decided to keep their activities away from Harold. They both felt no good would come from reminding Harold about John and The Machine. They were both just happy to have him 'back'.

Iris continued her visits to check on Harold each day. Their discussions were becoming varied and rather lively, depending on the topic. Every so often she would bring up John, testing the waters, to see how Harold was dealing with the loss. Some days he was open to talking about him and some days not. She knew she had to choose her battles when it came to talking about John with Harold.

Harold brought up her suggestion about "talking" to the people he had lost. He mentioned talking to his mother. He explained how much it had helped. He hadn't realized, until talking to Iris, that he had never talked to anyone about the loss of his mother. Admitting to Iris that much was a huge step for him. He seldom, if ever, spoke to anyone about something that personal. He added that he had 'spoken' to Nathan a couple of times as well. That had been a little harder than speaking to his mother. His guilt over Nathan's death was still fresh and deep. His own pride has caused Nathan's death…...driving him to go public with the acknowledgement of The Machine. He remembered how strongly he had resisted, and the truly horrible things he'd said to Nathan. He'd never gotten the chance to apologize before he was killed on the ferry.

He asked Sameen if she could take him to where Nathan was buried. He felt the need to pay his respects. He'd never been able to visit Nathan's grave before now. He'd been afraid those same government agents who had caused his death would find him. And in finding him, endanger Grace.

This was the first time Harold had asked to go out, to leave the safety of Root's home. Sameen talked to Iris to see if she thought he was ready. Iris immediately agreed, thinking what a huge step this was toward his healing.

The visit went well. Harold spent time sitting near Nathan's grave talking quietly to him. Apologizing for doubting him, he told Nathan that he knew now that Nathan had been right all along. He apologized for waiting too long to come to that realization. He unburdened himself by talking to Nathan like they used to talk all those years ago. Harold felt the years fall away and with that, the deep sense of shame he'd felt over his part in Nathan's death.

Shaw had given Harold the privacy he seemed to need. She was getting better at reading people's unspoken emotional needs. That surprised her. Usually they had to be pointed out to her. Talking to Iris had allowed her to take a deeper look into her own psyche. She was surprised at what she'd found. She'd always been rather proud that because of her AXIS II personality disorder, that she didn't have all the emotional baggage that other people had. She'd always thought the term 'disorder' had been a misnomer, that it was EVERYONE ELSE that had the disorder in having all those messy emotions. But now she found herself thinking more and more about Root. About what she'd say and do in particular situations, the gentle teasing at inappropriate moments. She'd hear Root's voice when she talked to The Machine and it had become comforting, sometimes when she didn't even realize she needed the comfort.

* * *

Iris was having some success herself in dealing with John's loss. Being able to speak to Zoe, Lionel and Sameen about John had gone a long way in helping her deal with his loss just as it had helped them. She felt that all 4 of them were helping each other as their friendships grew.

During one of their afternoon 'talks', Harold finally told her what John had said to him on the rooftop. Harold's voice broke as he explained how powerless he'd felt when he realized that John was taking his place. _His_ place. Harold was unable to continue. She sat there, letting him regain control on his own. It had to be his choice as to how much he would tell her. She wanted to know what had happened in the last few minutes of John's life…..she needed to know….for her closure as well as his. But it had to be on Harold's terms.

Iris didn't know why they were on the rooftop. She didn't understand the how and the why of the cruise missile either. A CRUISE MISSILE for God's sakes! Neither Sameen nor Lionel seemed willing to explain it all to her. She felt there was a huge gap in her knowledge of John's "other life" that maybe one day she would learn about. At least she hoped. But for now, she wanted to know about his last minutes and how to help Harold deal with the loss of John, and to be honest, to hopefully find a way to help her handle losing John. She knew those two things were intertwined.

* * *

One of the best moments for Harold had been when Bear came by to visit. Iris came in while the visit was going on out on the garden patio. Sameen was there with a man named Leon. Iris remembered Bear being mentioned when Harold was still in the hospital. Bear gave Iris a good 'once over' and decided that she passed the 'Bear test' and became part of his pack. He went back to retrieving the ball and bringing it back to Harold to throw again. Leon had proven to be quite a character. He talked a lot. Rapid-fire delivery with a comment for everything. Sameen had warned him about talking too much about Reese but he'd let a couple of comments get loose. However, Harold was concentrating so much on Bear and the ball, Iris doubted he even heard.

A few days later Iris left work early to run by and see Harold. She had a feeling that Harold was reaching a point of coming face to face with the loss of John and how his part had played into that loss. She was concerned about how much of the flood gates opening would he be able to handle at once.

Arriving at the small loft, Iris knocked on the door. Not hearing Harold answer, she used the key that Sameen had given her, to unlock the door and go on in. Not seeing Harold in the living area she called out to him. Again no response. She knocked on the door to his bedroom, but still no answer. Quickly running downstairs and out onto the garden patio she called out for Harold and got no answer. Now she was truly worried. He was not out of the woods yet and could still stuffer an 'episode'. He really shouldn't be out alone. In a panic, she called Sameen.

Sameen immediately knew the possible danger Harold was in. At first, she was at a loss of where to begin looking for him. Then she knew. She asked The Machine where Harold was, hoping that the Machine still kept track of its admin. Having this type of access to the Machine had been a new experience that she was enjoying more and more. She could hear Root's voice anytime she wanted or needed to. The Machine had explained it as 'God Mode'; access anytime, anywhere and the Machine was always there and always answered.

It did not take the Machine long to locate him. Giving Shaw the directions of where he was, the Machine added that urgency was advised. Following the texted instructions Shaw was surprised to end up in the park under the bridge where she had come back to the Team. Where John and Lionel and Harold had been waiting for her and Root. She recognized the bench where Harold had told her that he and John had first met. The Machine advised her that he was ok for the moment, and that he was alone. Sameen made a quick call to Iris to let her know she'd found Harold and that he was ok. The relief in Iris's voice mirrored what she herself was feeling. Iris asked how she had known where to go and if there was any significance to that location. Shaw ignored the question about how she knew where to look and answered her about the location. It all made sense to Iris. She explained why she thought Harold was there and to give him some space and some time.

Shaw saw Finch sitting alone on the bench facing the river and she waited patiently then slowly approached. She could tell he was talking but there was nobody there but him. As she eased closer, so could hear him and his words tore at her heart.

"I'm so sorry, John. I saved you from one life only to let you die in another. I wish you would have taken that money I offered you. You could have started a new life. Find that normal life we both yearned for. " Closing his eyes, tears ran down his cheeks.

"I wish I had never built the Machine. People I love died because of it. You, Nathan, Arthur, Root...I lost Grace because of it." he whispered.

"Who am I to think I could play God? Decide who lives who dies, who is good and who is bad. By what yardstick do we decide? I made things worse not better."

"I am so sorry John...and I can't even offer you an apology. There wasn't even anything to bury" he sobbed.

Shaw had heard enough. She made noise as she walked closer to Harold, so he would know she was there. She sat down next to him on the bench. Words were not exchanged nor were they needed. She could see the track of the tears on his face. Not knowing what to do or how to comfort him, she remembered something Root had done when they recovered her from SAM's clutches. Shaw reached for his hand and held it tight. Apparently that was the right thing to do at the right time. She could feel Harold physically relax.

She sat there for a long time, holding his hand. Her mind roiled, trying to figure out what could be done to help Harold deal with his grief and his guilt. John had made his own decision to sacrifice himself to save Harold. She knew John would never let anything happen to Harold. What he'd done had not surprised her considering what they were up against. She knew John wanted Harold to live and eventually find peace. All of them had seen how Harold struggled with the burden of what he had created. While they admired Harold for what he'd done, what he'd sacrificed to help the world; but all of them secretly wished he hadn't HAD to. If only Harold could have a normal life, then perhaps there was hope for them all.

Suddenly Shaw sat straight up, gripping Harold's hand so tight he made a grunt in pain. That's it! That's what Harold needed to do!

Turning toward Harold, she reached for his other hand and forced him to look at her.

"Harold, you can not bring John back. He is gone. He is dead. It was his choice. He would make that same choice over and over again if it meant you would live."

She had his attention. Now she need to drive home what he needed to do.

"Harold, don't let John have died for nothing. Do what he wanted you to do...live. Don't just exist. LIVE. Go to Grace. Go to Grace in Italy. Samaritan is gone and no longer a threat. There is no one left alive who knows anything about your part in building the Machine. The Machine is giving me the numbers and I'm working with Fusco. I've even had help from Logan Pierce in DC."

Before Harold could interrupt she pushed on. "Like you have always said, the numbers keep coming. Fusco and I are a pretty good team if I do say so myself. And the Machine talks to me in Root's voice, so it's like I still have part of her with me."


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Being inactive for any length of time had always been difficult for Reese. Even being as severely injured as he was starting to get "antsy" as Joan described it or her favorite 'he was suffering from cabin fever'. After staring at the 4 walls of the exam room for 5 days he needed to get out!

Meg had only allowed him to go from the bed to the chair and back again. He had to agree with her that he wasn't up to much more. He'd collapse back in the bed after sitting in the chair for a couple of hours and sleep like a dead person. Didn't even dream. Part of him was glad he didn't dream and another part wished he could dream again, that he would dream about Jessica again. His frustration with the limits of his mobility and memory were weighing heavily on him. At times his eyes had the look of a caged animal…..which was pretty close to the truth.

Joan watched John slowly come back to the John she remembered from years ago. His mind wanted to do more than his battered and damaged body would let him. She went in search of Meg to get an opinion about the next step in his recovery.

That afternoon when it was time for John's "trip to the chair" Joan came into the room with a wheelchair. John was seated on the edge of the bed, waiting for help to make it the four feet to the chair. Seeing Joan and the wheelchair, John's smile was breathtaking.

"Your chariot awaits you, Sir," was all Joan could muster before breaking into a happy laugh. It had been so long since either of them had felt like smiling much less laughing. Meg came in behind her and was pleased with the reaction the new mode of transportation received.

"Alright, you two. You need to take it easy. Don't go far. For now, just wheel around the clinic here in the back. You'll be using different muscles than what you were using standing and sitting in a chair. You'll be balancing yourself as Joan pushes you." John tried to interrupt but Meg held up her hand. "No, you have got to take it slow. I am not going to have you mess up all my hard work."

She smiled because John looked like a little boy pouting. It was an interesting look on the face of a man with a week's worth of beard. He really needed to shave or at least neaten it up. That would be their next step.

John and Joan had a nice couple of trips around the clinic. There was an open area in the back with a patio table that John wanted to check out, but since he couldn't control the wheelchair with his one good arm, he was at Joan's mercy and Joan made _sure_ they followed Meg's orders.

Back in his room, John barely had enough strength, or energy, to go from the wheelchair to his bed. In fact he was out before Joan could move the chair away from the bed. She pulled the sheet up over him and patted him in the cheek. He did look better after their jaunt around the clinic. He had color in his cheeks and he didn't have that slight frown on his face.

Waking up later that night, John felt like he maybe he was finally making some progress. He knew his injuries had been serious. Lucky by location, nothing major hit, but there were so many! Meg said there were five entry wounds. His right shoulder, lower abdomen, two in one leg and one in the other leg. He was still pretty heavily bandaged. He figured he must look like a true patchwork quilt. He remembered several times that he'd been shot...when he was in the CIA. Been knifed more than once. And he had broken his left arm one time.

Pulling up the hospital gown that he'd been forced to wear, he saw the bandages on his legs and the one on the lower right part of his stomach. His right arm was still pretty useless since he'd been shot in the shoulder. Meg had said he should get full use back but for now it was in a sling most of the time.

Looking down at his chest and stomach he was able to identify a few of the scars but there were quite a few more that he did NOT remember. There were large scars that were not familiar at all. He had no memory of how he'd been shot or knifed or….whatever. It was like he was looking at the body of a stranger. Pulling the sheet all the way off of his legs he saw even more scars on his legs that he did not remember. Panic was beginning to set in. The scars were at different stages of healing. Some were obviously older than others. And yet he had no memory of how he got them!

While some of them were from his days in the CIA, others were obviously more recent. What kind of person had he become since he'd "left" the Agency? He remembered how he'd felt when he was working with Kara Stanton. He remembered how he'd struggled with the things they had done. And then, one day out of the blue, he remembered Kara had shot HIM.

His hand went to the place just below his ribs where she'd shot him in Ordoz. But there was another scar on the other side of his abdomen. Using his left hand he felt under his chin and his shoulders to where he'd felt the skin pull unnaturally. There were two more scars that he could feel….but he couldn't remember how he got them either. He reached back awkwardly and untied the hospital gown and pulled it down. There was another scar on the upper part of his left arm.

He was now almost in a full blown panic. He had multiple scars from being injured multiple times….times he could not remember. It took time to heal from gunshot wounds, from this kind of damage. How many years did these scars cover? How many years could he not remember?

"Joan! Joan!" he called out. "Joan, I need you!" Each time he called her name he got louder.

By the third time, she came hurrying into the room followed by Meg. She'd been sitting in Meg's office having a cup of coffee when they heard John's panicked voice.

John was sitting up in his bed with the hospital gown pulled down to his lap. His legs were uncovered. The stark white bandages stood out against his skin in sharp relief. Terror filled his eyes.

"What is today's date?" he whispered.

"What? What day is it?" asked Joan in bewilderment.

"Yes damn it! What date is it?" She looked confused and then her eyes widened. She took a deep breath and suddenly, he didn't want to know the answer to his question. It wasn't just a few months he was missing, clarity hit him like a wall falling down on top of him. It was….it must have been...years…. "I know you found me after I left the CIA. That was 2011. That seems to be as far as my memory takes me."

Looking down at his body, his head slowly shook from side to side. His one good hand was tracing each new scar…..was trying to remember.

"I remember being shot and even being knifed a couple of times in the CIA, but there are at least nine…NINE scars that are new. All different in the degree of healing. That healing took time. TIME. Tell me, damn it…...what YEAR is it?"

* * *

Miles away, Sameen and Harold arrived back at Root's place. Both were very quiet, wrapped in their own thoughts. Harold went straight to his room, quietly shutting his door. He limped over to the window and stood there looking out, thinking about what Sameen had said.

Go to Grace? Grace who thought he was dead? Grace…who he loved more than life itself? Those questions had been ricocheting in his head ever since Sameen uttered them.

Watching a bird down in the garden he automatically called into memory its biological name, _Columba domestica,_ a pigeon _._ Watching it work on a nest it was building made him remember something very important. He'd never told Grace his real name. Not even after Nathan challenged him to tell her. The man she remembered wasn't real. Even his name was fake. Maybe it was best that she continued to believe he was dead and gone.

Turning away from the window he sat on the bed, deep in thought. He'd let her think he was dead because of the government. But now the government's machine, SAMARITAN, was gone, destroyed by his Machine. He pushed through the pain those memories brought and tried to reason out what he should do. .

SAM was gone, the government still thought he was dead, no one would be looking for him. There really WAS no reason to pretend to be dead anymore. Professor Whistler was no longer a viable alias. SAM agents had found him out before SAM was taken down. There was the possibility that there were remnant pieces of data about the professor so he could not take a chance and return to that life. He couldn't even go back to the subway. Sameen had said it had been "compromised" but she'd refused to elaborate.

And John, John who had sacrificed himself so that he COULD have that normal life they had both dreamed of. Perhaps he owed him that. John had given up Iris to remain focused on their 'job' of fighting SAM and saving people….saving the world. John had taken that ultimate final step and placed himself in harm's way so that he could live. He couldn't let John down after he'd given all that he'd had.

Maybe he actually could go to Grace. Maybe they could finally have a life together. But...only if she could forgive him. What he had done to her, what he'd let her think for all these years. When she realised he'd letting her go through all that heartbreak, it just might be too much. It might kill any feelings she still had for him. He's wasn't sure he could handle her turning against him or hating him for what he'd done.

An empty life, with no purpose, stretched out in front of him. He no longer was necessary to handle the numbers. He was at a loss….he had no purpose.

Going to Grace was truly his only chance at a regular life, one without being crushed by the weight of saving the numbers and failing. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could end up with that 'normal life' that he and John had talked about many times….or he could end up alone if she spurned him. He dug in and pushed that thought aside. He felt her love was strong enough to forgive him and he didn't want to live another day wondering 'what if'.

He made up his mind…..he was going to Italy. He was going to Grace. He would embrace the chance that John had bought him with his death.

* * *

Joan and Meg both stepped back. Neither had ever seen this side of John Reese. Cold and deadly. That emotionless voice demanding an answer that neither knew how to answer. They looked at each other, both hoping the other would know how to begin.

"DAMN IT! Quit looking at each other an answer me!" John growled between clenched teeth.

"Alright, John" Meg was the first to speak. "Just calm down and let us explain some things to you." Joan nodded her head glad that she wouldn't have to be the one to expose the truth and risk the wrath of this cold, dangerous stranger John had become.

"Don't patronize me! There is something you don't want to tell me. I want to know what that is. And I want to know why you don't want to tell me." he paused and took a calming breath. "Tell me now, tell me all of it."

Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and saying a quick prayer that she wouldn't harm him with the words she was about to tell him, She just prayed she could say the right things, in the right order, at the right time, she opened her eyes and looked at a very frustrated and panicked John Reese.

"The year is 2016 John. July 25th, 2016 to be exact." she said quietly, ever watchful of his reaction to her words.

John's head sagged and he fell back on the bed. His eyes became glassy, his breathing uneven, bordering on gasping, for air. His mouth tried to form words but no sound escaped. His hands clenched the sheet around him, his knuckles turning white.

Joan walked quietly over to the other side of the bed, just within his field of vision. She ached to hold his hand, to show him that she was there, that all was not lost…..but for the first time since she he found him on the floor of that warehouse long ago, she feared him. She was actually terrified of what he might do to himself…or...to them.

Slowly John regained control. He was trying to remember what he knew versus what he'd just been told. He remembered returning from Ordoz after being shot by Kara. He remembered going to Jessica only to find out that she was dead, killed by her husband Peter, the very one she should have been able to rely on to protect and keep her safe. He remembered _exactly_ what he had done to Peter.

He vaguely remembered coming back to NYC and wandering the streets until he woke up in an alley. He remembered, as if in a fog, stealing liquor from other drunks as he stumbled around deadlier and deadlier parts of town. All he had wanted to do was drink and forget. Drink and get drunk and take out his anger on anybody who was near. And if he picked someone who was more lucid than him, and he got his ass kicked, that was ok. He welcomed it...he deserved it. That was how Joan had found him.

Thinking of Joan, he looked up at her with a question in his eyes. "Wasn't it 2011 when you found me?"

Joan grasped his hand and held tight. "Yes John, it was early 2011 when we met. Remember? You were quite sick and you had been beaten up pretty badly."

"Yes, I do remember that. You took care of me and taught me how to survive on the streets…" his voice trailed off. A frown reappeared on his face as he searched his own memories. "I don't remember being anywhere else but with you. But now you tell me it is 2016?"

"That's five years. That's five YEARS….how can I not remember five YEARS?" he shouted.

Joan stepped back when John raised his voice, but he held tightly to her hand. There was more panic in his face and in his voice than anything else. Stepping back up next to the bed Joan clasped his hand with both of hers. "It's alright, John. We're going to help you remember now that you seem ready to try. "

"Joan's right, John. We have been waiting for the right time to try and help you get your memory back." Meg stepped closer and held his other hand. "I know the space of time you do not remember is frightening but I knew you during that time. Joan knew you during that time. You are a good man, John. You helped people; you helped ME."

Pulling his hands back from both of them, he looked from one to the other. "But you don't know what I was doing during that time? You saw me? You spoke to me? You spent time with me? But you don't know what I was doing when I was away from you? You don't know I was a good man. YOU. DON'T. KNOW. " Suspicion was all over his face. They were hiding something from him. They had to be!

"No John, we really don't know but we know YOU. No memory loss can make you into something you're not. Just because you can't remember all the good things you've done, doesn't mean you're a bad person, that you did bad things. No, we don't know WHAT you were doing. You kept that part of your life away from us. You would come visit me in the clinic about once a week. We'd have coffee and just talk. But we know YOU and you are NOT a bad man. You might have terrible taste in coffee," she shrugged and grinned, "but we won't hold that against you."

"You never even told me who set up the clinic. Just that a 'friend was looking for something good to do with their money and the clinic was a good idea."

"You don't know who pays the bills? Whose name is on the tax bills? Who owns the building?" John asked in rapid fire, obviously doubting what she was saying.

"I don't know. Every time I asked you refused to tell me and switched subjects. I send orders off for medical equipment and medicine and the orders are filled and paid for. I always figured you were behind it or someone you knew, someone maybe you worked for. But you never gave me a name. I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I wish I KNEW more to tell you." Meg looked down at the floor, blaming herself for not pushing him to tell her about her anonymous benefactor. Surely that person was looking for John.

Joan spoke up, at this point and told him how he visited her about once a month at least, sometimes twice. He'd always bring her special food, like treats when he'd come visit. Food that they seldom saw in their scavenging, food that was fresh rather than old and rotting. She knew that someone owned the building that she and her friends lived in but John had never told her who. She knew the owner and John were connected to the food trucks that came by twice a month but she had never thought to ask about the owner of the building. Now she wished she had. That would have been a connection that maybe they could have followed to help John. They still might be able to but that would take time. Time John didn't have the wherewithal nor the patience for. Time was a luxury none of them could afford.

John covered his face with his hands. Rubbing his temples, he felt the beginning of one of those headaches he'd been having since he'd woken up here at Meg's clinic. He didn't have time for a headache. He needed to have his faculties; he needed to find out what he had forgotten, what he had become in FIVE YEARS.

Meg recognized the signs of the headache coming on. Anytime John had gotten fatigued or stressed his body reminded him quickly and painfully that he was still recovering.

The harder John tried to fight the pain the more painful it became. He was almost curled up in on himself from the pain. Meg left the room and returned quickly with a hypodermic. She hated to sedate him but he was showing extreme pain above and beyond what she had seen before. His face had gone white and he had broke out in a cold sweat. The pain in his eyes when he looked up at her broke her heart. She knew he could stand a lot of physical pain but these headaches were something more. And they seemed to be tied to moments when he was actively trying to remember his past.

When she took his arm to give him the pain medicine, he grabbed her with his other hand.

"No, please…...I have to remember. I have to! There are five years missing from my life. Please don't …...put me…..down…..." But the pain was making it difficult for him to even speak. Meg continued on and slipped the needle in his arm and watched the drugs do their magic.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

The flight from NYC to Rome was long. Since he no longer had to stay away from his money, Harold had purchased a first class ticket. He was glad he did. Even though he was a small man in stature, he needed that extra room in the seat to be able to change position during the long flight. Long periods of sitting caused his neck and especially his back to stiffen up and ache.

He'd also purchased the seat next to him. He wasn't up for small talk. Too much on his mind. His leave taking from his 'family' in NYC had been painful and unexpectedly emotional. He had grown so close to all of them over the last five years. Not being able to see them often was going to be more difficult than he thought. They really WERE a family. He had provided for their futures as best he could, despite not knowing his own future.

He had given Sameen full access to his money so she could continue to work the numbers. Without having to worry about money she could devote herself full time, which is what she wanted. Logan Pierce had agreed to help Sameen with the financial aspect of the job. It was especially eye opening, even for Logan Pierce as to the amount of money Sameen had access to. Working with the other 'team' in Washington DC was proving to work extremely well. They were each others' back up. That left Sameen open to do what she did best…handling the situations that the updated Machine sent to her.

With SAM gone there was no reason to hide from his money and he had more than enough to live comfortably in Italy with Grace, if things worked out. If not, he might take his own journey in touring Europe. One way or another, he doubted he would ever return to the US.

Giving Lionel the keys to John's loft had been a little more difficult. It had been empty since they had fled the library. Bills had been paid automatically. He either needed to sell it…..or give it to someone who could use it. Sameen refused to move out of Root's brownstone, so that left Lionel. When he'd initially suggested it to Lionel, he had been resistant….but only only slightly. Harold thought it was more for appearance's sake.

Setting up the trust funds for Lee, Lionel's son, and Taylor, Joss's son, had been one of the best things he had done once he felt comfortable accessing his money. It was the best way he could thank Lionel for what he had gone through while working for him and John, without knowing why. He did what was asked of him blindly, trusting that he and John were doing a good thing, the right thing. Taking care of Lee's future felt right. Just like taking care of Taylor's. He and John owed Joss so much. This was the only way to say thank you. He felt she would have agreed.

He had promised to stay in touch with Zoe. Their shared memories of John kept them close. She had been been the one who had held everybody together when all seemed lost. She had kept their spirits up. Keeping tabs on all of them as they each dealt with John's loss and the changes in their lives. He was in awe of her, she was so busy being everything to everybody, yet he knew she was feeling his loss so deeply herself. But she seemed to agree strongly with Sameen and Iris's push for him to go to Grace.

Thinking of Iris, he felt the guilt settle on him again, guilt that would not go away. He had pushed John into trying to have that normal life they both had dreamed of. Iris seemed to be that person for him. But John had given her up to focus on the fight with SAM. Harold hadn't even known John had done that til Iris had told him. The sadness in her face could not be hidden and he had felt responsible for that sadness.

But Iris had ended up being the glue that held this 'family' together in this difficult time. Thanks to her professional training,she had been able to help each family member with dealing with John's loss and what he had mean to each of them. Each had had a very different relationship with John. It was like he showed a different side of himself to each person. She had been the person that each had confided to. Her empathy helped each of them deal with what John had meant to them, helped them actually reach out to each other for comfort rather than turn that sadness and anger inwards.

Iris had been the one that had made him confront his the demons in his past. To come face to face with the pain and loneliness of his youth. But it was sharing with Iris, those his moments with Grace, that made him open his eyes and his heart once again. All those years of holding his feelings inside had made it difficult for him to actually let go and think of his time with Grace, with all its loving detail, instead of closing those memories off into a tight. dark corner of his mind.

Sameen's urging to go to Grace was met with equal enthusiasm from Iris and even Zoe. They seem to know that his life here was over. His future was in Europe with Grace. And he would be seeing her soon to see if they were right.

* * *

Watching Harold walk into the security line at the airport had been difficult for Iris. She had become very fond of him. She enjoyed their talks on so many different subjects. She smiled thinking of his dry sense of humor. Sharing their memories of John had been enlightening and poignant. Learning about this whole other life, that she'd known nothing about, had been difficult at first, but the more Harold explained about what they were doing, the more it sounded just like something John would have done. His Hero Complex had found its home. He was truly a real life Bully Killer, defending those who could not defend themselves. If anything, it made her love him more. But that in turn made the pain of losing him that much worse.

Making her way back to her apartment, Iris felt more alone that she ever had. Harold was gone to Grace. Sameen was dealing with helping the same type people that John had been helping and Lionel was happily ensconced in John's loft, working BOTH of his two jobs. She'd never been there but Harold had told her about gifting it to John for his birthday one year.

These people had become so important to her. Now she wasn't sure they even needed her anymore. She wasn't sure if they even still wanted to be friends. She knew she needed them to be her friends. She still had her job. Helping police officers deal with the stress in their daily jobs was her job. She knew she was needed there. But it was Sameen and Lionel and Zoe and Harold that she still needed in her life.

Her mother had called a couple of nights after the missile strike. She had been concerned because she knew Iris's job would be to counsel any member of the department having any kind of a problem with the bombing. And there were bound to be some, either due to direct experiences from fighting overseas or from the shared experiences of all those who had been in the city on 9/11. Her mom had called to invite her and John for dinner. The call had caught her off guard. She had't told her mother that John had broken up with her and they didn't know he had been killed in the explosion. The pain she experienced when her mother mentioned John was indescribable. She had covered the the phone with her hand so her mother wouldn't hear her trying to control the sobs welling up in her chest. She wasn't ready to discuss John with her mother yet. Her parents had liked him and found him quite charming when they had met for dinner in that silly pirate themed restaurant. She knew her father approved of him because John was a member of 'the force' and was immediately considered a 'good man'.

Gaining control she'd told her mother she'd get back to her about the dinner invitation. Thank goodness her mother hadn't pushed her. Hanging up the phone she realized just how lonely her life was, except for work.

Coming home to a quiet apartment was all she could see in her future. The only thing waiting for her at home was that white dress shirt. John's shirt. That was all that she had left of him. She wouldn't admit to anyone that she hugged it to her every night as she slept. She kept it hidden under her pillow so that only she knew it was there.

Just thinking about hiding the shirt made her laugh….without any humor. Who would even see the shirt to ask about it? Nobody came over to her apartment. It was her secret, her solace, her touchstone.

Walking into her apartment she turned on every light to drive away the darkness. She turned the TV on to drown out the silence. Cooking her dinner for one, she tried to keep her mind occupied...from wondering how Harold's flight was going. Wondering how Grace would react to seeing the man she loved, the man she had mourned for 5 years, was still alive. Tears came to her eyes thinking how a woman, that she'd never met, would react to finding out the love of her life was still alive. She hoped for Harold's sake that her joy at finding him again would outweigh the possible anger at him for not coming to her sooner. Not letting her know he was still alive. Letting her suffer all these years.

"Please Grace, please take him back. He's suffered enough…." she whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Give him a chance to explain…".

* * *

Harold's plane landed in Rome in the early morning. He knew his way around Rome well enough that he was able to secure a hotel for the evening. Settling in, he found himself rather anxious to go out and find Grace. He'd kept tabs on her from afar, since she had taken the job in Rome. He knew where she lived, where her office was and where she could be found on most afternoons during the siesta.

He finally gave up and left the hotel in search of the woman of his dreams.

Grace's red hair made her stand out in the park. Harold recognized that red hair leaning toward the easel in front of her. She stepped back away from the painting and turned a critical eye toward her endeavor. He knew her by the way she held her head, the way she stood with one foot in front of her. He had memorized everything about her over those 5 lonely years when he could only see her from a distance.

Seeing a gelato seller nearby Harold immediately walked over and bought some vanilla gelato on a cone. One for himself, and one for Grace.

Turning back toward her, he suddenly became afraid. Terrified. His hands began to shake and he almost lost one of the cones. What if she hated him? What if she refused to see him or talk to him, to hear his explanation? What if she hated him? These were questions that had been running in the back of his mind ever since he decided to find her.

The gaping hole in his future could only be filled by Grace…..either her acceptance or her anger. But he would at least know something. He'd had enough of the gray fog of uncertainty.

Walking up to stand just behind her and to her left, he stopped there, waiting for her to notice took in every detail of her appearance; etching it into his memory in case this was the last time he saw her. The deep red and gold highlights in her hair danced in the sun. The moss green cardigan sweater she had on was just like the ones she use to wear when they were together.

But it was her hand that shook him the most. As she put down the pallet of paints she was working with he noticed the ring. She was still wearing the engagement ring he had given her, the one he'd hidden in the book. He'd not been this close to her in all those years, except that one terrifying moment on the bridge when he'd exchanged himself for her as a prisoner of Decima so he hadn't seen the ring. He had thought that she would eventually quit wearing it and may even have someone new, although he'd never seen her with anyone.

An audible gasp escaped from him upon seeing the ring. It was loud enough that Grace turned toward the sound. And for the first time in over 5 years, Harold was looking directly into Grace's eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Harold couldn't breathe...he couldn't move. All he could hear was the roaring in his ears. All he could see was Grace. His beautiful Grace. It was all up to her. He could do nothing to change the outcome.

Grace's eyes saw a ghost. A ghost she had been dreaming of for years...six long, lonely years.

She found it difficult to breath. There was no air...she was outside….. but there was no air, no oxygen. There was no sound, there were no people.

Just a beloved ghost.

She dropped her paintbrush and her artist pallet, splashing paint on herself and her belongings on the ground around her. But she didn't care. Her ghost was standing in front of her...in broad daylight. She'd been seeing him for years in her dreams. But now he was right there in front of her...all she needed to do was take a few steps and she could touch him...if he was real. If he didn't disappear like all the other times she'd seen him.

Both of her hands went to her mouth. She tried to speak but with no air, there was no sound. Suddenly she gasped for air. One hand stretched out toward the...ghost. It didn't move. It didn't dissolve into thin air like it did in her dreams.

"H...Harold?" she whispered. "Harold?"

The ghost nodded. "Yes Grace, it's me."

An audible moan escaped Grace as she clasped her hands in front of herself, as if in prayer. Tears came to her eyes, but none rolled down her cheeks. She slowly shook her head.

Harold stood there, holding the two slowly melting ice cream cones in his hands. Grace looked at his hands as a slight smile played across her face.

Looking back up to that beloved face, she slowly stood up.

Her eyes took in every detail He was older than she remembered. There was gray in his hair. His sideburns were longer. But his eyes were the same. Blue eyes that she would never forget. They still looked at her with all the love she could imagine, all the love she could hope for.

Harold started to speak but Grace held her finger to his lips.

"Shhhh. Let me just have this moment. A moment that has played over and over in my mind all these years."

Her artist's fingers gently followed the contours of his face, tracing his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his jaw. She ran her fingers through his hair. It felt different than what she remembered. She was trying to memorize every part of him in case he disappeared like he did in her dreams.

Harold dropped the ice cream cones on the pavement, uncaring and he stood there as his eyes took in every detail of the face that had haunted his dreams all these years. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was a little longer her green eyes filled with so many conflicting emotions. In the past, he'd been able to read her moods just by looking into her eyes. But it had been too long, now there was a riot of emotions that flowed across her face. Her eyes held so many questions he wasn't sure how he was going to answer them.

"Grace..." he said softly. Once again Grace held her fingers against his lips and shook her head.

"Please….please give me this moment to know you are real. That you are not in my dreams. That you are not going to disappear again…" her voice broke as she whispered the last word.

All the pain that she had experienced over the years, all the love that she had held inside of herself were overshadowed by fact that she had been right to hold out hope.

"Oh Harold…...it really **is** you.' With that, she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

She tasted the salt of his tears. She leaned back and saw the tears slowly rolling down his face. She carefully wiped his cheeks and the kissed him again. Kissed him with all the love she had been saving for 6 long, lonely years. Her arms went around his neck and held him tight.

Harold's arms wrapped around her and held her close. They were the only two people in the world at that moment.

Breaking the kiss, Harold looked at Grace and knew he had made the right decision to come here. But he also knew he owed Grace an explanation for his disappearance and what he had put her through, letting her think he was dead.

Grace feasted her eyes on Harold. She didn't want to let him go, even for a moment. Suddenly she noticed he was favoring one of his legs. He had shifted his weight to his left leg. She frowned for a moment, wondering what was wrong.

"Can we go somewhere and sit down?" Harold asked.

"Oh! Of course we can! I can leave my things here. They'll be alright."

Grace led him over to a bench nearby, under a huge tree. As they walked Grace noticed that he had a very pronounced limp. Holding his elbow she looked at him with a question in her eyes.

"I'll explain everything, I promise." he answered. "I promise".

They both sat down, close together, their fingers intertwined. They looked at each other and smiled. This time it was Harold that leaned toward Grace for a kiss. The sweetness of the kiss was almost too much for either of them. There were too many questions between them to be able to fully enjoy the kiss.

"Grace..? How? Why? " Normally articulate to the nth degree, Harold Finch was truly at a loss for words. Of all the scenarios he had entertained in his mind, the complete and total acceptance of him being alive and welcomed, was not one of them. He wasn't able to articulate a complete question.

Turning toward her on the bench, he held both of her hands and looked at her. Grace sat there looking at him with eyes filled with wonder and with love. Complete acceptance of his existence after all these years.

"I'm so sorry Grace. I am so sorry for leaving you alone all these years. I don't understand how you can be so accepting of me...of me just showing up here, alive." his voice trailing off in bewilderment.

Grace had been sitting there with a slight smile on her face...looking at him, taking in every detail of his beloved face. In response to his question, she put one hand to his cheek and leaned toward him. "Because Harold, I never accepted you were dead."

Pulling back from her touch, Harold looked at her in shock. "But they told you I was dead. The news said I was dead. You even had a memorial service for me..."

Giving a slight shake of her head, Grace smiled even bigger. "Yes, they told me you were dead. There was official notification that you were dead." Looking down, the smile went away. "I was devastated. We had been together for four years, four wonderful years and suddenly you were gone. Taken from me in a violent manner."

"I did have a memorial service for you. I needed the closure." Looking away for a moment, she tried to gather her thoughts.

Biting her bottom lip, she took a deep breath and continued, "I needed the closure that a funeral would bring. To help me deal with the reality that you were gone. That you were lost to me." For the first, time tears formed in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "To understand that you were truly gone from my life."

She shook her head slowly side to side. Looking into his eyes, she whispered "But it didn't work. It didn't work, Harold." A slight smile appeared on her face. " I couldn't accept that you were gone. I talked about your passing to others but I never could accept it. Because of one thing..."

Harold waited anxiously for her to continue. He knew this was their 'moment of truth'...their future would be determined by this 'one thing'...whatever it may be.

Begging her to continue with his eyes, at the same time terrified at what she might say...he waited, barely able to breathe.

Squeezing his hands tightly she said, "The one thing that kept hope alive for me that YOU were alive...there was no body. They never found your body. There was no hard, irrefutable proof that you were dead. I only had their word that you died on that ferry. They had a ticket with your name on it but they never had YOU."

Once again she held up a hand to the side of his face, "To me, you were missing. I believed that one day you would find me..." and she leaned in and kissed him once more.

Sitting back, Grace continued to hold his hand. Patting his arm with her other hand she simply said "Now, tell me"...

* * *

With Harold safely in Italy with Grace, the ones left behind continued their individual healing processes. Harold had been the focus of everyone. His peace of mind and well being was important to them all. Knowing he was where he was supposed to be, with Grace, and that he was happy just as John had wanted him to be, they all settled back into their own 'normal' lives, dealing with day to day events in their lives. Their closeness, brought about by their shared grief, remained strong. Each one still had their moments remembering John, but things were getting easier….

Zoe often spent her evenings alone out on her terrace. Sipping the whiskey favored by John, she reflected on the many changes he had brought into her life. Being an independent woman most of her adult life she called her own shots, answered to no one and she liked it that way. She controlled when she worked, what she charged for that work and who she worked for. She was well known in NYC by the high and mighty movers and shakers as THE 'go to person'. Her reputation balanced on the fact that she could be trusted to keep secrets when necessary and to know how to apply pressure when and where it was needed to get the job done.

She had been fine being on her own. She enjoyed a night out with associates in the world she moved in. Dinner dates at fine restaurants, Broadway plays and an occasional trip out of town. But once John Reese came into her life...things changed.

There had been a spark between the two of them, but neither acted upon it. She hadn't seen him again for close to 3 months when Harold had called. She'd known there had been someone else in the picture when John had 'pretended' to be her driver. Someone had been feeding him information. Recognizing the relationships between people was her bread and butter. That same someone had been the one to use the information that she and John had gathered to take down the pharmaceutical company that had double crossed her and almost killed them both.

Meeting Harold had been very interesting. He treated her like an equal and asked for her opinion and input on another case that he and John had been working. The idea of seeing John again had appealed to her. The spark was definitely still there. It remained a spark until John had asked her to 'marry him'. Playing house in the suburbs had been fun but it had also shown both of them that they had a lot to learn about living outside the city. They had become quite 'close' during that time and the spark became a flame.

She smiled to herself remembering their free and easy relationship. There were times it was nothing more than drinks at a bar late at night. Or watching an old black and white movie on tv and eating pizza. There was no pretense, no 'agenda'. They were friends who were very comfortable with each other. Sometimes she'd talk to him about a job she was doing and in turn he'd tell her about his current 'job'. She missed those moments the most. The companionship.

And with that companionship, John had brought a whole 'family' into her life. First there was Harold, Lionel, Sameen and Joss. Thinking of Joss made her heart hurt. She'd admired her greatly. Her loss was something that was still painful almost four years later.

Zoe felt she had become part of an exclusive club with only five members: John, Harold, Lionel, Sameen and herself. She was available to help with the work they did. Sometimes she was actively involved and sometimes it was to provide her insider knowledge. She saw John more often than the others but they were always just a phone call away. They were family for all intents and purposes.

Since they had lost John, they'd become closer, providing solace and strength to deal with John's loss. It affected all of them in the most painful way. He was a man who was larger than life itself and yet could easily hide in the shadows. His strength was in his compassion and his ability to see good in everybody. He cared deeply about all of them. They had talked long into the night many times about the relationships he had with them. There were still secrets that he could not or would not share, but she knew he thought of them as his family ... to love and protect.

Remembering the type of man he was, how many times he had escaped death...made it difficult for her to accept that he was gone. She knew what Harold had seen. She knew about the cruise missile in downtown Manhattan, she knew the building where John had been had been demolished but she had a very hard time accepting that he'd died there. He couldn't have ...just died. She needed closure. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself to do something. Something to confirm that he was gone. They'd never found a body in all that rubble. Nothing...not even...body parts. She shivered when that thought crossed her mind.

* * *

Now that John knew there was a huge gap in his memory he was working even harder trying to retrieve those memories. He questioned Joan and Meg about each and every one of his visits to them.. What did he say? What did they say? What did he have on? What did they talk about? And yet, all he learned was that he was always dressed in very nice clothes. A black suit, a white dress shirt, no tie. And in the winter he wore a greatcoat. Apparently he'd been very careful to reveal nothing about his actual life.

Each of these 'conversations' that John had with Meg and Joan left him with a severe headache and he was getting more and more frustrated that nothing they could tell him was helping him regain his memory.

He began spending more time alone, watching TV in Meg's office or reading the newspaper. Looking for anything to jar his memory. But nothing was working.

As his body healed, he became more and more anxious to recover his memory, to recover his life. The existence he had now couldn't be it, he HAD to believe that he'd done some good in his life, that he'd meant something to SOMEONE out there. Sometimes there would be a glimmer of a memory but nothing he could latch on to. Sometimes his dreams seemed to give hints about his past but the clues would fade as he woke up. As his frustration grew, his relationship with Joan and Meg was sorely tested.

* * *

Something had been nibbling at Zoe's mind since she'd been told about John. It had grown into enough of a concern that she had to act on it and do her own investigation. She was very good at research, it was what had put her in front of the line of 'go to people' when something was needed on the QT.

When she had told Iris about John, she realized there were no details…...just the stark fact that John was gone. Harold had told them how he had died. But she realized that Harold had not actually SEEN John die. He only knew where he had last seen John before the missile hit and there had been no body recovered from the rubble. Shaking her head, she refused to even consider that there were not any 'parts' big enough to identify. Even in the horrific aftermath of the twin towers, there had been human remains recovered.

Putting out the word with her contacts on the streets that she was looking for any news about the explosion. Specifically if anyone had survived. No one had been admitted to any of the hospitals in NYC except Harold and Lionel and a few people with cuts and bruises. She felt like she was looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack but this was a very specific, very important needle. She just had a gut feeling the answer was out there. That HE HAD to be out there. Alive or dead, she had to know the truth for herself.

It was a couple of days before one of her contacts found something to report. There had been talk on the street of somebody being pulled out of the rubble alive. Not much more info was available. But that was enough to give Zoe hope. She upped the payout for more concrete info. She kept her 'research' to herself. She didn't want to get anyone's hopes up…...especially Iris's hopes. She was very concerned about her now that Harold seemed 'healed' and had gone to Grace in Rome.

Zoe had never been an overly patient person but waiting for THAT phone call, the one that could change everything, had been the worst. But a week later, her instincts had proven to be correct. She got the phone call she had been hoping for. Someone had been found and taken to a downtown clinic. The area the clinic was located in was close to the missile strike. It had to be him.

With shaking hands she dialed the number she had gotten from directory assistance. Her heartbeat was pounding so loud in her ears it was difficult to hear the person who answered the phone.

"Mid-town Clinic. How may I help you?"

"Yes, I was wondering if you could help me. I am inquiring about someone who has been missing since that explosion on Beale St."

The quick answer of 'hold please' to her question gave her hope.

A woman's voice came over the phone. "This is Dr. Tilman. You are calling about someone hurt in last month's explosion?"

Zoe's eyes burned with unshed tears as she answered, "Yes, my friend John is missing."

Hearing that name, Meg knew they had finally found the connection to John's "other life".

Zoe gripped the phone so hard she was afraid she'd break it, waiting for the response to her statement. Closing her eyes tightly, her other hand clenched so tight that her perfectly manicured fingernails cut into her palm. "Yes, we have someone here named John."

Once again the world started turning on its axis, air was entering and leaving her lungs, her ears could hear again. She felt like she was alive again. The world and everything in it seemed to have been in stasis since that phone call from Sameen.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you so much." she whispered into the phone. "Thank you, God."

On the other end of the phone Meg frowned, "Excuse me, are you ok?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine…." breathed Zoe.

With a few questions from each side, both women knew they were talking about the same man.

Meg explained that his injuries were severe but that he seemed to be healing well, but Zoe heard the hesitation in her voice.

"But...what?' she asked. "What are you afraid to tell me?"

"He received a very bad blow to the head. X-rays didn't show a fracture but I believe he did have a concussion…"

"And…." prodded Zoe

"He seems to have amnesia. From talking to him, he seems to have no memory after sometime in 2011."

Zoe took that information in and rolled it around in her head. "How were you able to discern such a specific point in time that his amnesia manifested itself?"

Biting her lip and looking up toward the cracked ceiling of her clinic, Meg finally admitted "Because he remembers a woman named Joan but not me." she answered softly.

That answer rocked Zoe, rocked her hard. She had met John in 2011, what if he didn't remember her? Fast on the heels of that thought came, would he remember Harold, Sameen, Lionel….or Carter or Root ….or Iris?

Gathering her thoughts as best she could, Zoe asked "Who is Joan?"

Slowly things began falling into place. Zoe realized there was another whole world of John Reese that she didn't know. She wondered if Iris did.

Meg and Zoe exchanged information and both realized there were two completely separate worlds that John lived in and neither knew about the other. His very secretiveness had almost done him in.

During the exchange of information that flowed both ways, Meg learned about Iris and that she was a psychiatrist. She latched onto that fact. Meg knew that John needed professional help with his amnesia that she was not capable of providing. Zoe agreed, but first she had to share her discovery with Iris. As well as Harold, Sameen and Lionel!

Apologizing to Dr. Tilman, Zoe ended the conversation with a promise to come by the clinic that afternoon. She was frantically trying to figure out who she should tell first about John: Harold who seemed to be the most severely affected. Harold had been with Reese when he 'died', had known him the longest and carried the guilt, right or wrong, for John sacrificing himself. Harold would blame himself for John's amnesia. She wasn't ready to disturb the happiness he'd found with Grace. So that left Lionel, his partner, they had been through alot together and had each others' back at all times. Or Sameen, who was already dealing with the loss of Root and the loss of Reese had almost pushed her over the edge, or Iris, who had come late into their world but seemed to have the biggest impact.

Realizing that she was going to need Iris to help with John before they could expose him to Harold and Sameen and Lionel, Zoe made her decision. Iris was fast becoming the lynchpin that everything else depended on.

* * *

After fixing herself lunch Iris sat on her couch to try and relax and maybe watch some TV. But her mind always flowed back to the mystery that was John. Trying to put things into perspective was giving her a headache. She was reeling over learning about John's…..death….. before she'd been able to get over him breaking things off with her. And now she had found out he had a whole other life she knew nothing about.

Checking on Lionel and having to skirt around his concerns while focusing on him, had not been easy. Seeing Harold and trying help ease the deep guilt he felt, while getting little or no help from him himself had been exhausting. She was emotionally tired. Putting her feet up on the table in front of the couch, she leaned back and rested her head. With her eyes closed, she relaxed the iron control she'd used all day, every day, to stay focused, to be able to help. She gave into the deep sadness that seemed to permeate every part of her body and mind. One lone tear flowed slowly down her cheek.

Suddenly her phone rang and she quickly answered it, recognizing Zoe's number. "Come outside, I'm in the drive by the front door." was all Zoe said before she hung up. Sitting back up, Iris rubbed her eyes and sighed deeply. Standing up, she felt like she was sleepwalking.

Wandering outside and shading her eyes against the bright sunlight, Iris was at a loss of what car Zoe was in. Suddenly she heard her name. Turning toward it, she was surprised to see Zoe standing beside a very nice 'call car'. With a welcoming smile, Iris headed her way.

Zoe got into the car and moved over for Iris. Sliding in, Iris was doubly impressed that the car was a step or two above the normal 'call car'. Lots of legroom and a smooth, rich leather interior….leave it to Zoe to never do anything halfway!

Once they pulled away from the curb, Iris settled in and lean back. With a deep sigh, Iris rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

"Where are we headed?" she asked quietly, trying to keep the exhaustion out of her voice.

Zoe looked at the woman sitting next to her. She could tell that the last couple of weeks had taken their toll. Sadness showed in her face and her posture. Stress had left its mark on her.

"We're headed downtown to a clinic. There's some people there I think we need to see." said Zoe, carefully watching Iris for her reaction. But Iris kept her eyes closed, mulling over Zoe's words.

"A clinic? What kind of clinic? I take it someone needs help?" Iris's eyes opened as she sat up, looking at Zoe with a puzzled expression. "Is it Sameen? Is she hurt? Or Lionel? Does the clinic not have anyone on call?"

Zoe hadn't been able to come up with an easy way to tell her what she _may_ have found out. Who she may have found. Zoe was usually quite glib and quick on her feet. She **had** to be when dealing with the types of customers she dealt with in her 'business'. But nothing sounded right in her head. There was no easy way to explain where they were going and why.

Iris frowned, watching different emotions flow across Zoe's face. She felt like she was having an argument with herself but there seemed to be no clear winner.

Stretching out her hand, she touched Zoe's hand and said, "Just tell me whatever it is that is causing you this much distress. You know you can trust me."

Zoe grabbed Iris's hand and squeezed it tight. "I think John is alive. And I think I know where he is." Zoe's demeanor lost all of her sophistication in her urgency to tell Iris everything.

Iris snatched her hand back and stared at Zoe in shock. Slowly shaking her head she looked away. Looking out the window she tried to regain the control that had kept her sane since …..that day. She wanted to look anywhere but at Zoe. The pain she was feeling was private. She had not shared it with anyone. Except that first night when Zoe came to her and told her about John dying. She had come to terms with the fact he was gone, dead, lost to her.

How dare Zoe say something like that? How dare she say the words she dreamed of hearing every night. How dare she give her...hope.

It felt like Zoe had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart and squeezed.

Zoe reached out towards Iris but was shocked when she shrank away from her. She watched as Iris seemed to shrink within herself; she watched in astonishment as the woman broke from the inside out. Zoe saw and then felt the echo of her own pain in Iris's eyes.

'Oh my God what have I done?' Zoe berated herself. She knew she should have checked out this clinic and this person who may or may not be John, before she told Iris! But she was so sure that this man was John. Their John. The alternative was not acceptable. She just had to get Iris to listen to her.

Iris stared out the window, not seeing the passing streets of NYC. Tears welled up in her eyes and slowly ran down her face. Giving into her grief completely she rested her forehead on the glass. John was gone. No amount of wishing and praying was going to bring him back. Why had Zoe done this? Why re-open a wound that was barely beginning to heal?

Taking a deep breath, Zoe started from the beginning. She started by telling Iris that she herself had not been able to accept John's death completely. She reminded Iris of how little actual, concrete information they had about his death. All they knew was what Harold had told them. What Harold himself believed. John had been on the rooftop of the building that the missile had struck. _But_ he had not actually seen John killed.

Iris visibly winced every time Zoe said 'John's death'. Zoe was watching her closely and hoped that Iris was really listening to her.

"I put out the word through some of my 'contacts' that I wanted to know if there had been any survivors of the missile blast. I know those streets, and the people there know I pay well for my information. There are a lot of things that go on in the streets that that police and the news don't always know about." Zoe paused to watch Iris to see if she was hearing her. Still no reaction.

"It took awhile but one of my contacts got back to me that there had been a survivor from that missile strike." again Zoe watched Iris. Iris continued to stare out the window. Zoe could see the tears on her cheeks. She just HAD to get Iris to believe her. Because if someone else believed too, then maybe, just maybe, it was alright to hope...

Taking a deep breath, Zoe continued. "This one person was taken to a clinic near the area of the blast. It was a man." Still no response from Iris. Zoe was getting frustrated. Iris HAD to believe her. She needed Iris to believe her.

"I called the clinic, Iris. I called and talked to a doctor there. She said the man was still there recovering and his name is John." Zoe leaned closer to Iris, looking for something….anything…..that showed she was listening. But still nothing. Iris was completely withdrawn.

"Damn it, Iris! Did you hear what I said?" Zoe grabbed Iris's shoulder and forced her to look at her. "The man who survived and was at the clinic…..his name is JOHN" she was almost screaming at her.

Iris's pained filled eyes looked back at her. Raw, naked pain flowed from her. Zoe grabbed both of her hands and looked her straight in the eyes…."Iris….I think John survived and that he is the man at the clinic."

"Why are you doing this?…..Why are you telling me this? Don't you think if it were John he would have contacted us by now? He would have contacted Harold...or Sameen..or...or even Lionel….Or me." Her voice fading off into a whisper. "I know he would….."

A smile spread across Zoe's face…"Because he has amnesia!"

"What? Amnesia?" finally Iris sat up and sounded more like herself. "How do you know?"

Zoe told her about the phone call to the clinic and the information that she and Meg Tilman shared with each other. And most important of all…..she explained his lack of memory of everything from 2011 forward due to a concussion. "He doesn't remember Harold, or Sameen or Lionel or me…..or you."

"How do you know what he remembers? Why that specific date? Normally amnesia manifests itself from at the moment of the concussion. Forgetting the last 5 years is …..odd"

Watching Iris click into 'doctor mode' was helping Zoe feel justified, that she'd done the right thing in telling Iris about this 'John' Doe.

By the time their car drove up to the clinic Iris was completely in agreement with Zoe that this man was John Reese.

* * *

Pulling up to the clinic both Zoe and Iris took in the neighborhood and the semi-squalor. Some of the people along the nearby sidewalk obviously lived on the streets. There were some men on the corner sharing a bottle of who knows what. They stood watching the long black car pull up to the clinic.

Feeling a little bit exposed Iris exited the car and stayed close to Zoe. Zoe herself was a bit intimidated but she knew from experience it was just best to brazen it out. So she dismissed the driver who promptly took no time getting out of there.

Looking at each other, each saw their own hope and apprehension mirrored in the other's eyes. Clasping hands they walked into the clinic. The urge to run was strong…..whether to run _away_ or to run _to_ the clinic and face a reality they might not survive, neither could say.

The small waiting room was clean but well used. There were a few people waiting to be seen. They ignored Zoe and Iris as they walked up to the only window in the room. Tapping on the glass they watched as a nurse finished what she was doing and finally came to the window.

"Yes, we're here to see Dr. Tilman about a patient you have." Zoe infused her voice with authority.

"And that patient's name is?" said the nurse suspiciously, after taking in the style of clothes that Zoe and Iris had on. It was obvious that they certainly weren't from THIS neighborhood.

"His name is John." answered Iris, before Zoe could respond. "He...he was seriously injured in that blast a few weeks ago? We were told he was brought here?" Iris's voice cracked and still holding hands, she gripped Zoe's even tighter.

The nurse's attitude changed immediately. "Just one moment. I'll get Dr. Tilman for you." And she disappeared into the back.

Once again Zoe wondered if she should have checked if the man who was here was actually John before bringing Iris. She'd never forgive herself for causing her even more pain. But the die was cast and there was no going back. So they both waited, neither wanting to break the hardened silence until they were sure it was him.

The nurse found Meg in an exam room and told her there were two women here asking about their patient in the back room, John.

"Thank you, I'll be with them in a moment. Let me finish up here. Would you please get Joan for me?" The nurse nodded and went looking for Joan. After a couple of days here, Joan had made friends with just about everyone.

Finished with the patient, Meg washed her hands and stepped into the hall to find Joan waiting for her.

"How's John?" asked Meg.

"He's sleeping right now. He's trying so hard to remember but I'm not much help, he never told me much about what he was doing after he left me. He's given himself a headache again and his frustration is growing worse."

"Well, maybe we've got something we can do to really help him now. Remember the woman I told you about who called looking for someone named John? After talking to her, I think our John and her John are the same person. She may be able to help fill in that gap or tell us about what he's been doing these last couple of years."

"Oh I hope so! It breaks my heart to see him so lost. He wants to remember. He just can't!"

Walking together Meg and Joan went into the hall outside of John's room to wait while the nurse brought the two women in. Meg was curious about who the second woman was.

The two worlds of John Reese were about to come crashing together.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Zoe took the initiative and spoke first, "Hello, My name is Zoe Morgan. This is Dr. Iris Campbell. I spoke to Dr. Tilman earlier today? About a patient here?"

"I'm Dr. Tilman. We spoke on the phone".

The women stood there for a moment, taking stock in each other. Zoe saw a rather young doctor who seemed quite capable and very much her own person. She must be to care for the sick and injured in this neighborhood while running the clinic. Zoe had done her homework between her conversation earlier and picking up Iris.

The older woman was a mystery. She obviously was not a doctor and wasn't dressed to be a nurse. Her clothes were clean, despite being very worn. Zoe was at a loss to figure out where she fit into John's life.

Meg took in the two women in front of her. One of the women, Zoe, was sophisticated, polished and very attractive. Her self-confidence immediately set her apart from others. Her clothes were on the high end, her hair was perfectly coiffed. She seemed to be woman in charge of herself.

The other woman was harder to peg. She'd been introduced as a doctor but Meg didn't get the feeling she was an MD. There was a 'naturalness' about her that seemed soothing. Maybe it was the long red gold hair, or the casual clothes she wore. She seemed to be the more anxious of the two. Or at least the other was just better at hiding it.

Joan had her reservations. She was extremely protective of John, especially in the confused state he was in. But she was also desperate to help him. Her instincts, honed to a fine edge after years on the streets, told her that these two women were close to John and would do him no harm.

"May we see him?" Iris asked softly. "Please?"

Meg glanced at Joan. Returning her look, Joan gave the slightest nod of agreement. Both Meg and Joan wanted John to get better and these two women might be the key to that. Joan thought it was worth the risk of possibly upsetting John if it turned out these two women didn't know anything helpful.

"John is sedated right now. He won't know you are there. I would like to leave him undisturbed until he wakes up." Meg answered, looking at Zoe and Iris.

"Sedated? Why is he sedated? Are his injuries that severe?" asked Iris anxiously.

"His physical injuries, while severe, are healing quite well. It is his memory loss that's the problem now. His frustration in trying to recover his past is causing him to have severe migraines. Severe enough that sometimes I have to sedate him to alleviate the pain."

Seeing the worried eyes staring at her, Meg was quick to continue, "We'll talk more about this after you see him. See if he is your friend John."

Meg led the way out of the break room and to the back corner of the clinic. Quietly opening the door, Meg stepped in. Seeing the quiet form of John under the covers, breathing normally she motioned the others to come in.

Holding her finger to her lips she beckoned for them to come closer. Zoe grabbed Iris's hand as they walked toward the bed. Hope and fear were fighting within each of them. Fear it wasn't their John and hope that it was.

The man on the bed was lying on his back. Long legs could be seen under the covers. The salt and pepper hair seemed a little more salt than pepper. The couple of weeks growth of beard covered the lower part of his face. A large bandage still covered a part of his head, covering his right eye and forehead.

Neither Zoe nor Iris could tell anything definite…...if it was John or not.

But then he turned his head away from them and they both gasped out loud. Their clasped hands gripped each other tighter. That tell-tale V spot in the back was clearly visible. That distinctive hairline made them both gasp. Was this their John? Had they finally found him? Found him ALIVE?

Suddenly he groaned softly and moved restlessly on the bed. Both Zoe and Iris were silently willing him to turn toward them, to let them see that face they thought was gone from them forever. Turning slowly in the bed, obviously favoring one side over the other, the man in the bed turned his face toward them. And then both women saw what they had been yearning for….

John was alive!

Meg put a restraining hand on Zoe. Shaking her head, she pulled her back toward the door.

Zoe turned and gave her a puzzled look.

"Like I said, he's sleeping right now. I do not want him awake yet. I've given him something to help with the pain from these headaches. I'd prefer he wake up on his own."

Zoe nodded and looked back at John's sleeping form…...and then at Iris standing next to her.

She was transfixed staring at the man they had both thought was lost to them.

Zoe squeezed Iris's hand to get her attention and led her towards the door.

All four women walked out into the hallway and the door shut quietly.

"We need to talk. We need to figure out what it the next step for John's recovery. The next BEST step" said Meg, looking at Zoe and Iris. She felt they were at a crossroads how best to get the John they obviously all knew and loved…..back.

Zoe was the first to recover from the shock of seeing John alive. The relief of knowing she'd been right, that he had _not_ died on that roof top, left her shaken..

"I agree. We need to have a plan in place that best suits him and his continued recovery. Can we go talk in your office?"

"Of course, right this way." Meg said as she led them down the hallway. Zoe paused when she realized that Iris was not following. Turning around she saw Iris looking through the window at John. And Joan was right there with her. Two very different women who were alike in their obvious love for one man.

Zoe turned and continued on behind Meg. Once in her office they sat down and began to map out what to do when and where and most importantly …how they would be able to help John.

Joan stood next to Iris, watching her. She was there to prevent Iris from bothering John as he slept. Meg had taken very good care of John and he continued to improve...except for his memory. But watching Iris, she had a good feeling about her. Iris hadn't said much. But the look on her face while she looked at John told Joan a lot. She had learned how to 'read' people pretty well while living on the streets. Many times her life depended on it.

She felt that was a history there, between John and this woman. The sadness she saw in her face gave her pause. She seemed happy to have found John, found that he was alive but there was something more. Joan slowly reached out and took Iris's hand in hers. Iris turned to look at her, unshed tears in her eyes. Joan patted her hand and said, 'It will be alright. I mean that. It will be alright.'

* * *

Joan gently pulled Iris away from the door and lead her to Meg's office. There, Zoe and Meg were already deep in discussion about hard facts about the details of John's recovery. Meg was talking and Zoe was taking notes, nodding her head and asking questions to clarify things.

Meg told them she needed to free up his room for the normal weekend bloodbath. Meg had worked hard the last three weekends using the one exam room, shuffling patients in and out quickly. Twice, she had patients lining the hallway with nowhere to go but she refused to push John out before he was ready. But, she explained, weekends brought out the worst in people in the area where the clinic was located. She really needed to have both rooms available.

Iris came in and took a seat next to Zoe. Meg took a minute to get her caught up about John's recovery and rehab needs.

"He no longer need hands-on, day to day care. His bullet wounds are healing nicely. I hope there isn't any permanent damage to nerves or bones. But only time will tell. Not real sure how he got that lucky with as many times as he was shot." Meg said shaking her head.

"How many times was he shot?" asked Iris.

"A total of 5 times. One in his right shoulder, one in his lower abdomen, two in his right leg and one in his left leg. He's still got limited use of his right arm but I think with rehab he'll be close to 100%. His left leg is coming along fine but his right leg that took two hits, that's going to take longer. There was lot of muscle damage. I'm not sure about how much use of that leg he'll recover. But I would never use the word impossible when referring to John." she finished with a slight smile.

Zoe looked at Iris who seemed deep in thought, slightly slouched over in her seat. Zoe was a doer. Get things moving, organized, information gathered and used. She had a goal now and she was ready to push ahead.

"Iris..." she paused, waiting for her to acknowledge her name. After a moment, Iris looked over at Zoe, a slightly surprised look on her face. Obviously she had been 'somewhere else' in her thoughts while they were discussing things, not that Zoe blamed her. John's situation was a lot to take in.

"Iris, I...we need you in full-on head doctor mode. We have got to help Meg AND John now. Meg needs to free up the room he's been staying in. But we're not sure how to go about it as far as his memory loss and physical problems are concerned. What do you think?"

Iris sat up straight and looked Zoe directly in the eyes. You could almost see the doctor mode 'click in'. There was also a hint of relief that there was finally something she could do...could _actively do_...since her real desire was to go back to John and actually touch him...to prove to herself that he WAS alive.

"Dr, Tilman," she spoke, her voice clear and precise. "Let me get some more information from you about your observations of his mental state."

"Please call me Meg. We are all in this together for the same reason, a very special man." Meg said with a kind expression on her face. There was something more going on between John and this woman, she thought. She glanced at Zoe and was surprised at the knowing look that Zoe had on her face.

"At first, I thought his memory loss was due to the concussion. He was technically in a coma those first few days. Due to the severity of his physical injuries, that was probably the best for him. When he finally 'woke up' he had a very clear memory of Joan, " she nodded in Joan's direction, "and everything leading up to meeting her".

Looking down at his chart, Meg frowned. Re-reading some of her notes, more was coming back to her. "He had detailed memories of his time with Joan and the time before that, when he was in the military. But nothing after a late night ride on the subway. The way he described it was like a 'gray void' of nothingness." Again glancing down at her notes, she continued. "He has no memory of meeting me. None at all. I traced back and was able to figure out exactly when we met. It was October of 2011. So he has no memory from at least THAT time forward. That is 5 years worth of memory that he is blocking out."

Listening to Meg paint the picture of John's time after the explosion, an idea was taking shape in Iris's mind. She asked for more details about John's reactions to things, things he said and the questions he'd asked. She felt she was on to something. Her questions became more pointed as her theory began to play out in her head. His confusion over the memory loss, his anger over how much time he had no memory of, his physical reaction to trying to remember, the type of questions he was asking, especially the headaches that were causing him such pain the harder he tried to remember...

"I believe what John is experiencing is PTSD." Iris said quietly. "Everything fits. The mind will always protect itself. Block out visions, thoughts, experiences, violence, loss. Those are all strong emotional connections that the mind will shy away from, will deny a person access to in order to protect itself." Pausing for a moment to get her thoughts in order, Iris was counting off all the 'signals' that John was giving off, according to Meg's observations.

"I think that moment on the roof top." Iris's voice broke. A sob broke from her, tears once again came to her eyes. Taking a shaky breath, she continued, "That moment when he was giving up his life to save Harold was a traumatic moment for him. After talking to Harold, Sameen, and Lionel I have some understanding of why John and Harold were on the roof. I learned about his relationship with Harold and the work they did together. That violent 'end' on the roof was a type of 'psychotic break' for John. Everything that lead up to THAT moment was excised from his memory."

Meg, Zoe and Joan looked at Iris in amazement. Meg slowly began to nod her head, seeing the logic that brought Iris to that diagnosis. Zoe's slow smile showed she knew Iris would find the problem, give it a label, something concrete they could work on. Joan smiled the biggest smile of all. She remembered her recent heart to heart with John about her son. She was so glad that John had these two women in his corner to help him fight PTSD, help that her son never had. She'd seen what the ravages of the mental illness could do in many of her fellow homeless and she didn't want that for John.

Meg was the first to speak. "That fits. That fits amazingly well from what I know about PTSD. I learned about it in medical school and how to recognize most of the symptoms in the ER." Looking down at her desk she paused for a moment. "We get a lot of veterans ending up down here suffering from PTSD. They're lost and seem to have no support network. I usually recognize it and get the VA involved pretty quick. I'm so sorry I didn't pick up on that as a possible diagnosis..."

Zoe was quick to jump to her defense, "Dr. Tilman, you were busy trying to save his LIFE! From everything you've said about his condition when he got here, you could have lost him. But you didn't. A fact we are all immensely thankful for."

Joan had been sitting there quietly listening to the three women. No one but John knew about her son and his PTSD. No one had been there for him. But there was someone for John. "Now that we have a name for John's mental condition, what are we going to do? How do we treat it? How do we treat him?"

All eyes turned to Iris who was deep in thought. They waited for her to speak. Since she was the one to make what seemed to be the correct, and only, diagnosis she would be the one to take the lead.

Suddenly Iris realized all talking had ceased. Looking up she was surprised to see 3 pairs of eyes watching her.

"Oh, what did I miss? I'm so sorry!"

"Nothing," Meg Tilman laughed gently. "Since you figured out what I...what we were missing, it only makes sense that you would be the best one to advise us on how to proceed"

"Thank you. I truly appreciate the confidence you have in me. " Iris paused, collecting her thoughts. Things had been rapidly clicking into place.

"I have dealt with quite a few people with PTSD. Each individual's symptoms were are different, their symptoms themselves manifest differently but the 'triggers' that bring on an episode tend to be similar."

"Dr. Tillman," began Iris. Meg interrupted her, "Meg. Remember? We are well past the need for formality. I have a feeling we're going to be working together a lot and I'd prefer to drop the formality."

"Of course," Iris smiled in response. She liked Meg's direct approach. "Please call me Iris."

"And please call me Zoe."

"And don't forget me, call me Joan, please." All of them smiled at each other, drawn together for their love for one man.

"Meg, you said that John has been getting headaches more often now than just after the explosion?"

"Yes, and sometimes they are quite severe. Like the one he had before you got here. It was bad one. I had to give him something to knock him out to be able to control the pain. But now that you have brought up PTSD, these headaches really started in earnest after he realized how big of a gap he has in his memory. He's actively straining to remember. The harder he tries to remember, the worse the headache." Shaking her head, Meg continued, 'I never associated the headaches with him trying to remember his past. I was still thinking it was connected to his concussion."

"That is perfectly understandable. From what you've told us, you have done an amazing job in keeping him alive. Considering his injuries, he should have died. "

"How did you get to have experience with PTSD? I thought only soldiers got PTSD from being in war." Zoe asked.

With a small grimace, Iris answered. "Anybody can get PTSD if the trauma is severe enough. Police are exposed to stress and trauma every single day. Violence is their job, even though they are called 'Peace Officers'. I've treated many different versions of PTSD. Some recover, some learn to live with it, handle it...and some never do." Iris's voice trailed off, remembering her first couple of sessions with John as Detective Riley. Her eyes smarted with unshed tears. Biting her bottom lip she regained control.

"Today is Tues and Meg you said you really need to have John's room available again by this weekend correct?" Iris asked in full-on doctor mode.

"Yes, this typically is a 'busy' weekend for this clinic. Government checks come out and there is more disposable income available ...for the wrong reasons." Meg answered.

"So we need to have John out of here by Friday. That gives us 2 full days to 'prep him' for the move. We definitely need a plan that we can all agree on. Since he doesn't seem to remember you Meg, I am going to assume that he won't remember me or Zoe." Meg nodded in agreement.

"I think our first step would be for you to mention our names and watch for a reaction. Zoe and I do not need to be here when you do that. It will only confuse him more. Mention Harold, who was his boss and closest friend, and Sameen who was...um, a sister to him." She paused for a moment when she noticed the confusion on Meg's face. They obviously didn't know about Harold. Or Sameen or Lionel. Continuing she explained, "And also Lionel, his partner in the police department. Watch for any kind of reaction...recognition, memory, good or bad, confusion...especially take note IF he gets a headache. and how quickly he gets it and its severity."

Stopping for a moment to map out the plan she had in mind. "Do that today. Let me know his reaction." Pausing again, Iris gave a slight smile as she continued. "Meg, you be the one to mention our names. But don't look at him." Looking over at Joan she smiled. "Joan, you seem to be able to read him very well. When Meg mentions our names, YOU watch his reaction. If what I think is true, he will not remember us or Harold or Sameen or Lionel. But at least get him familiar with our names. We can come back tomorrow..." Iris looked at Zoe who nodded, "and you can actually introduce us. How he responds to us when he sees us will determine how far to take the next step."

Once again Iris sat there deep in thought, oblivious to the other three women.

"I really hate having to kick John out but I've got to have access to that exam room. He's recovered enough that he doesn't need 24/7 care but he shouldn't to be alone in his mental state. Where will he go?" asked Meg.

"He can come stay with me." answered Zoe.

That got everyone's attention. Three pairs of eyes looked at her ...with three different expressions. Shock, disbelief and wariness. Zoe just sat there and smiled. "I have an extra bedroom. It is quiet. You can come by and check on him Meg, anytime. Joan I hope you will come to see him often. From what Meg has told me you are his anchor. He obviously still needs you and relies on you in the confusing world that he woke up in. Anybody else got a better idea?"

Looking over at Iris, Zoe smiled. "YOU however will have to be checking on him more often. You are the one that will be handling his mental state. Are you up for it?"

Iris returned her look. Somehow Zoe had figured out the best scenario to help John. Zoe was in her element: solving problems.

Nodding her head, Iris smiled back. "Yes I am. Anything for John."

Meg and Zoe immediately put their heads together to figure out the logistics of getting a semi-invalid moved from an inner city clinic to a high rise in the middle of Manhattan. Thank goodness Zoe had the financial ability to handle an ambulance to get him from one place to the other. Meg began writing up a list of medical supplies that would be needed.

Joan, once again reached for Iris's hand. Holding it tight, she pulled Iris out of her revery. Standing up, she pulled Iris to her feet and led her out of the office. Neither Meg nor Zoe noticed them leaving.

Stopping again at the door to John's room, both women stood looking in at the still form on the bed. Joan noticed the look of pure longing on Iris's face. Squeezing her hand she asked, "Do you want to go into the room?"

"Yes please." Iris whispered. "I need to see his face…" she said, never taking her eyes off of him.

Joan pushed open the door and led Iris inside. She motioned for Iris to go closer but held her finger to her lips to remind her to be quiet.

Releasing Joan's hand Iris stepped closer to the bed. He still faced the way, she could only see the side of his face. That tell-tale V spot was clearly visible but the longish, scruffy beard covered most of his face that she could see. She took in every detail; there was so much more gray in his hair. He seemed to have lost weight, which was understandable. How she wished he was facing in her direction. She needed to see that dear face, the one that she thought was lost to her.

As if hearing her thoughts, John slowly turned his head toward her. Still asleep, his eyes didn't open. A gasp escaped Iris as she saw the face that had haunted her dreams for weeks. One hand reached out as if to touch him but Joan's hiss from behind her caused her to draw back immediately. Standing there quietly, Iris memorized every line on his face, noting any new ones, as well as the way his hair fell over his forehand, the salt and pepper of his beard.

The door to the room opened behind them and Joan turned to see Meg and Zoe walk in. Iris was oblivious to anyone in that room except for John.

Watching Iris and the way she looked at John, for the first time since Joan had brought him into her clinic, Meg felt good, even optimistic, about John's future. These two women where the bridge to John's other life and his full recovery.

Zoe felt satisfaction that she'd been right. That John had not died on that rooftop. It would take more than a cruise missile to kill John Reese! But watching the naked emotion play out on Iris's face, Zoe realized that she herself was not John's 'endgame'...Iris was. And that was as it should be. Thinking back to some of their late night conversations, John yearned for a calm, quiet life. He had had enough excitement, danger and action to last multiple lifetimes. The serenity that flowed from Iris was just what John had been looking for. And now it was almost within his grasp, IF they could get his memory back.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Zoe put in a call for her car service to pick them up. Meanwhile, Iris and Meg exchanged phone numbers and a quick timeline to get things going. All four women felt relief that something was actually being done to bring John Reese 'back'.

As the car pulled away from the clinic, Iris reached over and took Zoe's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"I have no words to thank you enough for what you have done." As happy tears rolled down her face Iris continued, "After all this time to find out he is alive. And how easily he could have completely slipped away from us…...but he IS alive! He did NOT die!"

Wiping the tears from her face, Iris suddenly frowned. "We need to let Harold know! And Sameen and Lionel!" But then she paused, "No…... maybe not yet." Again Iris was back into 'doctor mode', working things out as she spoke to herself. "Maybe it would be best to wait. He's going to be even more confused when we come back tomorrow." She looked at Zoe for affirmation.

Zoe nodded and Iris continued, "I won't know anything for sure til I talk to him, but I have a feeling, from Meg's description, that his mental state is rather fragile right now. I think too many 'unknowns' at one time will do more harm than good." Pausing again, Iris marshalled her thoughts over the events in the last couple of hours. She couldn't help but play out into the near future. So much had changed since Zoe called her only hours ago! Quick on the heels of that thought was also a reminder of how much her world had changed when Zoe called to tell her that John had died. John was not going to be the only one who would have the weight of a new world thrust upon them. She made a mental note to watch herself for the signs of stress. She wouldn't be able to take care of John, she might actually do him more harm, if she wasn't ready to take on all the baggage that came from caring for a man like John Reese.

Looking over at Zoe, Iris smiled "Thank you so much for being such a wonderful friend to John. You never gave up hope. I did, Harold did. Sameen and Lionel did. But you didn't." Once again she gave Zoe's had a tight squeeze. Zoe smiled back and squeezed her hand in understanding.

For Zoe's part, she looked at Iris and saw the love she obviously had for John. John had told her a little about his relationship with Iris but he'd always been rather vague. But she'd known he had feelings for Iris before even HE knew he had feelings for her.

"John is a very special man in many ways. He means different things to different people." She watched Iris's face to try and gauge the best way to ask something she had long been curious about. Finally she decided to just ask, "When did your relationship with John change?"

Iris sat up straight and pulled her hand back into her own lap. Her lips came together tightly and her eyes took on an inward stare. Zoe knew she'd touched on something very sensitive in Iris. She didn't want to bring any further emotional turmoil after all that had happened today….. Zoe knew she had to be sure that what John had with Iris, that it would help him to get better, not leave him worse off than he was now. She needed the details and frankly, as a woman John had once had feelings for, Zoe needed to hear it herself.

Iris seemed to be having an internal argument …..with herself. Emotions were flowing over her face, no one particular one seemed to hold sway over the others. Leaning back against the car seat, Iris closed her eyes and seemed to withdraw into herself. Zoe held her breath, hoping she had done the right thing by asking; it just felt important to know.

Zoe's stock and trade had been in watching, observing and reading people. She had gotten to know Iris rather well in the last couple of weeks. The pain of loss knew no barriers. She had watched Iris take care of them all, their mental and emotional well-being. Iris had given herself unselfishly for people she had just met based solely on their connection to John. Yet of all of them, Zoe had been the only one to see Iris give into her own personal loss. Iris had been strong and showed a capable, friendly, understanding side to her impromptu patients, Harold, Sameen and Lionel. But Zoe couldn't help but wonder who Iris HERSELF talked to. What was that saying.. _Physician heal thyself_? Zoe felt that she was about to find out.

Iris opened her eyes but didn't turn to look at Zoe. She started talking in a monotone but that didn't last long. The deep pain bled its way into her voice.

"I realized I was having feelings for John. Which was wrong. Very, very wrong. I found myself looking forward more and more to our sessions. There was so much to admire about him. He truly is a good man but he did have a 'hero complex' ….apparently from a very young age."...her voice trailed off in distraction as she relived some of their sessions.

Finding her voice again, she continued. "The more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know. He was making great progress. He was finally opening up and really talking to me." Again she paused but this time there was a smile of memory on her face. But it lasted only for a moment and then a frown appeared and her shoulders slumped.

"I knew that my feelings were wrong, unethical. You learn that in medical school and as I got further into my field of psychiatry you are told to never get involved with a patient. It is hammered into you repeatedly." Now it seemed that Iris was talking more to herself than Zoe. "I had to stop our sessions before my feelings began to show."

Once again Iris fell silent as her thoughts went back to 'that' day. "I told John that I was going to transfer him as a patient to a colleague. That we had gone as far as we could but that he needed to continue seeing a doctor." Iris looked down, biting her lower lip. "I can still see his face when I told him….." Closing her eyes she tried to control the feelings that this particular memory brought up. "He's very good at hiding what he is thinking and feeling…...but for that one moment…after I told him….he looked so lost, so... hurt." her voice trailed off into a whisper. "But he shut down completely. He got that bland, blank look on his face. All he said was 'fine' and turned and walked away."

Zoe slowly reached out and took Iris's hand in hers once again. Sharing her strength with her.

Iris gripped Zoe's hand tightly but didn't look at her.

"After that, he avoided me. He would see me in the hall in the precinct and turn around and walk away. If he saw me in the squad room, he'd turn his back on me." The pain of that memory came through Iris's voice. "When I'd try to speak to him he'd turn even colder and walk away, He was so angry…so withdrawn".

Raising her head Iris watched at the streets of NYC passed by. Looking at the passing scene she seemed to come to a decision. Turning to face Zoe, she found compassion staring back at her.. Not the judgement she'd expected…but rather compassion.

"I was watching all the hard work we had done, all the progress he had made disappear. I just couldn't let that happen! I couldn't!" said Iris with tears in her eyes.

"I realized then that all he knew was that I no longer wanted him as a patient. That after he had finally opened up to someone, told them about his past, his deepest, darkest secrets, that that person no longer wanted to be associated with him, to have contact with him. And that someone was me….." Bowing her head, she let the tears fall. "I can only imagine the anger, the bewilderment, the hurt he must have been feeling. I had gotten him to talk and then turned him away..." Sobs of recrimination wracked Iris's body and mind. Zoe sat there, holding her hand and letting the Iris cry away over what had happened.. Eventually, the tears lessened although looking at the woman in front of her, she knew the feelings had not. Zoe tried not to judge the ethics of what Iris had done; God knew she couldn't throw stones, and yet…. Zoe took a deep breath and a thought occurred to her. If Iris hadn't acted on her feelings, where would John be now? He never would have known those few weeks of peace he'd gotten when he was with Iris. And if this didn't work, if John never regained his memories, they might be the ONLY ones his damaged brain would ever let him have as he searched for himself in the darkness. So no, Zoe couldn't, wouldn't begrudge either of them for the feelings they had for one another.

By then the car had arrived at Iris's apartment. Zoe handled the payment and sent the driver off. She walked inside and rode the elevator up with Iris. She was glad there was no one around. Iris was in no shape to see anyone. Zoe wasn't even sure Iris wanted her here. But she knew she couldn't let Iris be alone right now. Not after the visit to the clinic, finding John and now finally telling someone, about her relationship with John.

Being in charge was second nature to Zoe. She held her hand out to Iris for the key. Iris fished it out of her purse and handed it to Zoe. Opening the door, Zoe let them both in quietly. Shutting the door she turned around to see Iris just standing in the middle of the room. Zoe recognized emotional exhaustion when she saw it. She urged Iris to go take a shower and get comfortable. She assured her she'd be here when Iris was done.

Watching Iris walk slowly into the bedroom, Zoe slowly shook her head. This was not good. She needed Iris. JOHN needed Iris. Meg had admitted to her that she felt the PTSD diagnosis was the right one AND that she was out of her depth in being able to treat something like that. Iris was the best person for the job.

Walking into the kitchen Zoe looked to see if Iris had added any alcohol to her shopping list. Once again…..that particular cupboard was bare. Using her phone Zoe called her favorite liquor store to have them deliver. She ordered a bottle of merlot and a fifth of John's favorite whiskey. She'd developed a taste for it. She told them that there was an extra 20.00 if they could delivery within 30 minutes.

Walking back into the living room she could hear the shower running. Thinking that what Iris needed was either a glass of wine or good stiff drink and then sleep, she went into the bedroom to turn down the bed.

Lifting the pillow to pull the sheet down, Zoe discovered the shirt. John's shirt. The one that Iris had held onto that awful night that she came to tell her about his death. Finding it hidden under the pillow moved Zoe like nothing else had. She looked toward the closed bathroom door and vowed to herself that things would work out….for everybody.

Putting the shirt back under the pillow, she folded down the sheet and the comforter to make the bed look more inviting and comfortable. Turning the bedside light on, she walked out the door and turned off the overhead light.

A light tapping on the door about 15 minutes later and the wine and whiskey were delivered. Zoe paid handsomely for the quick service. Taking the bottles into the kitchen she poured herself three fingers of whiskey. Taking a sip she walked back in the living room and waited for Iris.

Iris came out of the bedroom in comfy pajamas and her hair wrapped in a towel. Her eyes looked too big for her face, the sadness over the current conversation overshadowing the happiness of a few hours ago. Standing at the doorway she looked lost . Zoe motioned to her to come over and patted the couch next to her.

Once Iris was seated, Zoe told her, "I took the liberty of ordering in some alcohol since you seemed to be fresh out." Watching her reaction Zoe was heartened to see the ghost of a smile.

"What did you get?"

"Something good!" replied Zoe. "I've got a nice bottle of merlot and a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen. Which would you prefer?"

Iris thought for a moment and the said "Normally I'd probably prefer the wine, but after a day like today, I think it's going to take a good, strong whiskey would be in order."

Zoe's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She never would have thought Iris would drink whiskey. "It was John's favorite drink the few times we had something here. I developed a slight taste for it." said Iris with a smile.

Zoe smiled and got up and went to the kitchen. She returned quickly with another glass of whiskey and she'd refilled hers and had the bottle under her arm.. Handing Iris her glass, she held up her own glass,

"To John Reese, may he never have secrets again!" and then clinked glasses. After taking a sip, Iris held up her glass to Zoe "or never having a need for secrets again!' and they clinked once more before both women downed the whiskey on one swallow.

Zoe quickly refilled both glasses and sat back. Iris removed the towel from her hair and towel dried her hair. Running her fingers through it she just left it down. Taking another sip of the whiskey she looked at Zoe. "Do you want to know the rest of the story?"

"I sure as hell do!" said Zoe with a smile.

"I realized that I had taken the coward's way out of a sticky, ethical position. I had chosen to run from my feelings instead of controlling them for the sake of my patient. By turning away John and forcing him to go to another doctor, I was sending the wrong message at the worst possible time. John had just started really opening up and talking to me. Truly talking to me and I had shot him down…..literally and figuratively.

Taking a big sip of the whiskey, Iris made a face. "Since I had done the damage to him I had to be the one to explain that it was NOT him that was the problem. And I had to get stern with him because he was becoming very good at ignoring me." Irish finished up the glass of whiskey with two bigs swallows.

"I think I need some more liquid courage to be able to tell you the rest of this….." Iris said, holding out the empty glass.

Quickly complying, Zoe refilled both glasses and sat back.

"Because John wouldn't speak to me, I actually had to demand that he come see me in my office. He had been doing an excellent job of ignoring me."

Taking a sip from her glass, Iris made another face and then gave Zoe a half smile. "I will learn to like this stuff…eventually"

Holding the glass with both hands, Iris appeared to be deep in thought, reliving that all important moment when things had changed between them.

"I tried to be professional about why I had stopped our sessions. I told him I should have told him the truth….that it was for his own protection." Iris sat there, slowly shaking her head side to side, reliving the moment. Reliving the fear that she had done irreparable harm in her handling of their….. _her_ situation. "I was being a coward…."

Zoe said nothing, waiting for Iris to continue. She had the distinct impression that this was the first time Iris had spoken about this. Seeing it in the cold light of day…

"He just stood there looking at me, waiting for me to continue." Taking another sip of the whiskey seemed to drag her back out of the past. "He was standing by the door, so stiff, unyielding…...resistant. The look on his face was unreadable. He was completely closed off from me. It felt like all those sessions where he slowly relaxed and had been willing to talk about his past had never happened. That we were literally back at square one.." Looking over at Zoe, she continued. "And that hurt. It had taken so much to get him to let down those barriers he'd been building for all those years. It was a defense mechanism that took both of us to breech. And I had caused him to retreat behind those walls _again_ : All because I didn't trust myself around him."

"I told him that I stopped our session for his own protection. That it was not because of anything from his past. That nothing he'd told me would make me run from him. I knew that was what he'd thought. It was so like him to go back to thinking that he was a monster."

Again Iris paused, closing her eyes as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. "I can still hear his voice when he asked "Then you're not afraid of me?" as her voice trailed off.

Zoe could easily see the scene unfolding in front of her. The only time she had seen John look lost was when he came to her after breaking up with Iris. Now she understood. John trusted very few people and even those few knew very little about him. Whether it was from his CIA training or just his natural instincts, he excelled at compartmentalizing his feelings. She could easily see his hurt and bewilderment over being 'let go' by Iris when he had literally bared his soul. Iris was correct, he would definitely fall back into that mindset that… and then he'd let Iris go. And she knew very well his defense mechanisms to handle that type of pain. He'd used them with her, although to a lesser degree since he knew she could handle herself in most types of danger.

Watching Iris, Zoe was surprised by the sudden smile on her face. Obviously the woman's thoughts had come to a happier moment.

"My answer surprised him. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you that doesn't happen very often with a man like John Reese."

"I told him yes, I was afraid of him….I was afraid of the feelings I had for him. That most definitely was not what he was expecting. I truly think he was speechless. All he said was 'Oh'..."

"I remember that I rambled on about how wrong and unethical it was for me to have feelings for a patient, to get involved with a patient.. That I could lose my job, a job that I loved, but that I kept finding that every time I was with him I would feel….."

Iris paused so long that Zoe leaned closer to see her face and smiled. Iris was actually blushing. Blushing at a memory!

Seeing Zoe lean toward her, Iris smiled and said, "So I said to hell with it…..and I walked up to him and kissed him. It was wrong, but it felt so right. I pulled away because I had crossed that line…but…"

Once again Iris was wrapped up deeply in a memory. Zoe had to know how it ended so she patted her on the arm and said "And?"

"He grabbed my hand and stopped me from walking away. And he kissed me. But it was what he meant when he reminded me that he was pretty good at keeping secrets… it made all the difference. He was telling me that even if no one else in the world thought my feelings for him were acceptable, HE thought they were alright and that he returned them. And then he kissed me again…"

Watching Iris, Zoe got the impression that a great weight had been lifted off of her. Something that Iris may not even have realized was there, but had been weighing her down.

"I can only tell you, from my point of view, that you were a positive influence on John." Zoe told her. "There was a serenity to him that I had never seen. An inner peace. He actually seemed happy. I didn't see him as frequently as I used to but the change was noticeable to me. For John's sake, I think you did the right thing. For your sake, I think you did the right thing." Pausing to collect her thoughts after this revelation, Zoe looked at Iris and smiled. "For what it's worth, **I** think you did the right thing for both of you. Others may not think so, but the only ones who matter are you and John."

The smile that lit up Iris's face was as heart-breaking as it was breath-taking. Zoe felt like she had hit upon Iris's biggest worry about her relationship with John. To finally have someone who knew the history between both of them and was on their side meant everything to her.

Taking the last sip of the whiskey, Iris's eyes took on a sleepy look. Zoe noticed immediately and stood up and made the announcement that it was time for Iris to get some sleep and that she had some things to do to get ready to bring John home.

Iris stood up and walked Zoe to the door. Before opening it she hugged Zoe tightly. "Thank you for being John's friend and believing him and thank you for being my friend"

Zoe got misty eyed hearing the love in Iris's voice when she hugged her. "We've got him back physically…..now we are going to get him back the rest of the way."

Iris locked the door behind Zoe and took the two whiskey glasses back to the kitchen. Turning off the light she realized just how lonely she had been. Zoe was a force all her own. She easily filled the vacuum with her personality. She was an amazing woman. And if it were not for her they would probably never have found John.

Going into her bedroom she climbed into bed. Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out John's shirt and hugged it tight. Tomorrow was going to be a very emotional day for all of them.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Meg and Joan hugged each other after Zoe and Iris rode away. Finally, something good had happened for John and for them. Both women had begun to despair over what to do next while trying to help him find his way. Now, to find somebody who knew him, TWO somebodies in fact, and who obviously cared a great deal for him was truly a miracle.

Walking back inside, they began planning how they would introduce Iris and Zoe's names to get a reaction but without being obvious. Meg thought it might help John to hear their names first, without him straining to give them significance that he would not remember and become upset about. Between them they hatched a plan that included the nurse that worked with Meg. Since the woman had seemed quite taken with 'the man named John' neither figured that would be a problem. Once they had a plan in place, they all sacked out for a couple of hours. They all knew the next day was going to be very important for everybody.

Early the next morning, Meg and Joan entered John's room. Meg had timed it almost perfectly to when he would wake up after the sedative she had given him. Joan went around the bed and sat down like she usually did and Meg gently roused John.

"John, John...wake up John. I need to check your bandages." Meg said quietly. Joan watched John's face closely from her position by the bed. Slowly he roused, blinking his eyes against the bright overhead lights.

"What? What is it? What time is it?" mumbled John. His mind was a foggy from the drugs.

"It's almost 8 AM sleepy head. I didn't realize you'd sleep this long. I need to check your bandages." said Meg as she pulled the covers off his legs. "Maybe we can leave some of these bandages off this time."

"I'd like that. They're starting to itch pretty bad." John said as he yawned.

"I'm not surprised. Had to shave around two of those gunshot wounds. Hair growing back can be itchy but I can give you some lotion for that."

Watching Meg slowly peel the bandage back on his right leg, he was anxious to see how his wounds were healing. This was the first chance he'd had to see the damage from any of the gunshot wounds.

"Joan? Where's Joan?" he ask in a mild panic, not realizing she was sitting in her usual place.

"I'm right here John." soothed Joan, patting his hand. Turning his head toward her voice, he smiled when he saw her.

Suddenly the nurse came through the door calling out for Meg, "Dr. Tilman, that man named Harold called again."

Joan watched John closely to see if there was any reaction or recognition to Harold's name. But there was none, at least none that Joan could tell. She'd been watching him closely for the last couple of weeks and she felt that she'd be able to discern if he were reacting to that name.

"Did you tell him I'd call him later?"

"Yes ma'am I did".

"Good, please come and get me if Harold calls again."

"Yes ma'am. " said the nurse and she went back to the front desk.

"Do you want go for a walk after Meg gets done? Maybe sit out on the patio?" asked Joan.

"Sure, as long as Meg doesn't pull out every hair on my leg with that medical tape." groused John.

"Joan, did you see Lionel when he was in here earlier today?" asked Meg. Again, no reaction or recognition by John.

"Yes I did. He looked good." answered Joan.

After finishing work on his legs, Meg checked John's belly wound. It too was healing nicely. She was amazed at John's ability to heal from such devastating injuries. He really DID have the nine lives of a cat.

Meg was still worried about his right arm. The bullet had done some damage to his shoulder, especially the nerves. John seemed to only have about 50% usage. But hopefully, time and physical therapy would change that. She had the same concern about his left leg where he'd been shot twice. The wounds were healing but she was concerned he was going to have a limp when all was said and done. BUT…..John had already beaten the odds by surviving that missile attack. Hopefully his luck would continue.

As Meg and Joan were helping him into the wheelchair the nurse knocked on the door again. Coming in she went straight to Meg. "Doctor, S...Sa...Sameed called and needs another prescription called in." Both Meg and Joan surreptitiously looked to see if John reacted. But to their mutual disappointment, he did not. "Ok, I'll handle that in a minute"

Once he was settled in the wheelchair, Joan started to push him toward the door. But John stopped her completely by grabbing the bars that he used with his left hand, stopping their forward progress.

Joan looked at John in confusion, "What? What's wrong?" That question caused Meg to turn around and look back at both of them.

She was stopped by the look on John's face.

"What's going on?" John asked quietly

Meg resisted the urge to look at Joan and asked, "What do you mean? I thought you wanted to go out to the patio….."

John frowned and looked Meg and then Joan. Something was going on. He could feel it…..he could see it…...he could hear it in their voices.

"Something's happened. Something's changed…you know something .and it is about me…"

Meg took a deep breath and bit her lip. In all the possible scenarios that the four of them had come up with, THIS was not one of them. The idea that he would pick up on the 'something has changed' but then not recognize the names...they should never have underestimated him. Then again this was John and he processed things differently than most people. She was at a loss as to how much information she should give him. But she had done some intense research about PTSD in those hours since Zoe and Iris had left. The internet was a wonderful tool to gather info in a short period of time.

"Yes, we do know something new and yes, it is about you." Meg said quietly. Both she and Joan were alert to any changes in John. They were both in uncharted territory and were playing it by ear. Hopefully, the tips and suggestions from Iris would work.

John's reaction was relief immediately followed by caution. What did they find out? Who did they find it out from? And most importantly…..why were they trying to hide what they knew…..

Trying to read his expression to be able to judge what she said, Meg decided to be truthfully vague. "They came to us looking for a friend who disappeared after that explosion downtown. And we think that person is you."

Knowing that someone was actively looking for him had a profound effect on John. That there was someone out there who 'knew' him during that 'gray void' that he could not remember, filled him with hope. That they had not given up after all this time, four weeks later, and were still searching for him. Then what felt like his customary caution yanked him back. WHY were they looking for him? He still had the concern that he WAS responsible for that explosion. He felt he had been involved with it. But he was unsure if he had caused the explosion itself or if he'd been the target. Not for the first time, he wondered could he be putting Meg and Joan in danger by being here?

Too many questions were piling up too fast and his head began to ache again. Putting his hands up on both sides of his head he closed his eyes and tried to will away the pain. He had to know…he NEEDED to know…

Meg immediately knew he was in overload. She also knew she needed to talk to Iris asap.

"John, that's enough for now. I know you're getting another headache but I do not want to give you any more painkillers right now. You just woke up from a 12 hour "nap". I need you to be in control of yourself." She hoped she was getting through to him. She needed him to hang on and not give in to the frustration he'd been experiencing the last week. "Can you just go outside with Joan and enjoy the fresh air? I promise I will get in touch with these people for you and get them to come to you….today"

Joan laid her hand on John's shoulder. That comforting gesture immediately lessened the pain in his head. He patted Joan's hand and nodded. Meg looked at Joan and smiled. Moving out of the way, she let Joan push the wheelchair into the hall and toward the doors to the walled patio in the back of the building. A place that had become John's favorite since he had become more mobile.

Meg made her way quickly to her office to make that phone call. Closing the door, she pulled out her cell phone and called Iris. Quickly filling her in on the morning's events, she waited to hear if Iris thought she'd handled it ok. She knew she was incredibly talented in fixing people's bodies but when it came to their minds, Meg felt she was clearly out of her depth.

Iris's calm assurance that she'd done well eased Meg's anxiety. John had come so far and knowing that she could have easily negated any progress with a careless comment, had been uppermost on her mind.

"What did you tell him about us?"" Iris asked quietly.

"Nothing really. Just told him that 2 people had shown up looking for their missing friend." Meg paused for a moment, deep in thought, trying to remember exactly what she did say. "I don't think I even told him that it was two women! Was that ok?"

Meg could almost hear Iris smiling through the phone, "That was probably the best thing you could have done so he'll have no preconceived ideas about who those 'two people were'.

Changing the subject for the moment Iris asked, "Have you talked to Zoe this morning?"

"Yes I did. She called to make sure she knew exactly what kind of medical equipment John would need while he stays at her place. Still can't get over that she offered that!" replied Meg. "I gave her a rather long and expensive list but she didn't seem to baulk at the necessary items or prices."

"Zoe is a very special person who cares a great deal about John. I don't think money has been, or ever will be, a problem for her. When will it get delivered, do you know?"

"Today is Wednesday and we hope to get John moved over there by Friday morning, so maybe tomorrow? To get it set up?. That will give me enough time on Friday to get his 'room' here set back up so I can see patients. Like I said, weekends seem to bring out the worst in people."

"Ok, I'll give Zoe a call and I'll let you know when to expect us. You were smart to try to limit his questions. We really don't want him to give himself more headaches. I have a concern about how much medication he may need at Zoe's due to those headaches. We'll talk more when we get there."

Out on the patio John, was trying to stay calm and not think about what Meg had just said. But his mind was going in a million different directions at once. The harder he tried to sort them out, the more painful the twinges of that headache became. Joan watched him from her seat at the patio table. She could almost read the thoughts racing around in his head.

Reaching out, she patted his hand once again…..to get his attention and to break his train of thought.

"John, you're doing exactly what Meg told you NOT to do. I know you have questions but you need to let it go for now. Your heard her. She will get in touch with those people today."

John looked at Joan. His face filled with bewilderment. So many questions and so many answers that now seemed so close, just there, out of reach. How could he NOT think about it!? But seeing the look of true concern on Joan's face, John reined in his wilding running thoughts. He would do anything to keep Joan from worrying, from causing her to be upset. He owed her so much.

Turning his hand over, he held her smaller hand in his. There may have been some dirt under her nails and on her hands in the past, but her hands also held an incredible amount of strength; strength she had willingly been giving to him. A slight smile played across his face. And Joan knew everything would be ok. They sat there in silence enjoying the sun and each other's company. No words necessary.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

Zoe had spent the morning clearing out the guest room in her condo. Meg had suggested getting an overnight nurse or the first couple of days...just to make sure that John made the transition from the clinic to her place ok. She put the bed in storage with some other furniture to make room for the hospital bed that would be delivered tomorrow. Also being delivered was a wheelchair and a walker and other smaller items necessary for an invalid. She paused for a second. If John only knew she was thinking of him as an invalid...he would be so stubborn and pig-headed about NOT using the things he needed! At least the _old_ John Reese would have...NO! She reprimanded herself, John WOULD get better, he WOULD remember...

The phone call from Iris was a welcome break. Grabbing the phone to answer it, she also grabbed a bottle of water out of her fridge and headed towards the balcony. Exchanging pleasantries with Iris while she settled down in a lounge chair, Zoe was ready to plan their next move.

Getting Zoe up to speed on what has transpired at the clinic only took a moment. The one thing that Zoe latched onto was the fact that Meg had not told John that it was was two women who had come looking for him. That revelation would prove quite interesting.

Agreeing to pick Iris up in an hour, Zoe hung up and took a moment to reflect on just how much the world….her world…..had changed in the last 24 hours. Time had passed so slowly since the explosion and hearing of John's death…..she almost felt breathless at the speed of things now. Shaking her head as she sipped the water, she smiled for the first time in a very long time. John was alive … the world was a beautiful place again.

* * *

Hanging up the phone, Iris sat back and thought about what was going to happen next. She was going to have to use every bit of her training to rein in her feelings for John; to not let him see how she felt. At least until his memory of her came back. She was going to have to actually DO what she should have done back at the precinct before she had taken the cowardly way out to hide her feelings for him. Be a doctor first and foremost for the health and well being of her patient. Closing her eyes she said a little prayer for the strength to do the right thing at the right time.

Opening her eyes she sat straight up. She was going to see John. She was going to see John alive. See John alive and looking right at her. She had to be prepared for the strong possibility that he would not recognize her.

She needed a moment to prepare herself; to put up her 'wall' to protect him and her. She would be of no help to him and his recovery if she couldn't contain herself. Suddenly she was almost afraid of what was going to happen or not happen.

The ringing of her cell phone brought Iris back into the here and now. Recognizing the # as Lionel's, she debated with herself for just a moment about whether to answer it or not. She and Zoe had decided to hold off telling Lionel and Shaw about John. He was already overwhelmed with questions and suspicions and from what Meg had told them, John didn't need any more mental and emotional stress until he could regain at least some of his memory.

Taking a deep breath, Iris answered the call as normal as possible. Lionel was still a patient, albeit an unofficial one, and dealing with the loss of his partner and friend. She was his doctor as well as his friend.

"Good morning Lionel, how are you doing?" she said calmly. Her voice sounded normal in her own ears; she hoped it did in Lionel's ear as well.

"Hey Doc! How ya doin'? Haven't seen you at the station the last couple of days and wanted to make sure you were ok." he said without preamble.

Smiling to herself, Iris heard the true concern in his voice. "I'm fine Lionel. Just taking a few days off for myself. Since Harold has left for Italy, I'm trying to re-arrange my days to fit work and a new found 'family' into my routine."

"Yeah, I know we kinda took up a lot of your time. You were helpin' me and Harold and Sameen. Hell you even helped Zoe and she's hard as nails. Haven't known her that long but Sameen likes her so she's ok in my book. John seemed to like her too. OH…" Lionel paused, realizing what he was saying and who he was saying it to. "Sorry doc, didn't mean to say anything that might sound…..well, you know..." his voice trailed off.

"Lionel it's ok. I know about Zoe and her relationship with John." She was still amazed at the effect just saying his name had on her."So tell me Lionel, how are you doing? How is your new apartment?"

"Aw Doc! It is so cool! John really was livin' the life in that apartment! The view is spectacular! You need to come over sometime and see it. Maybe for dinner?"

"I'd love to Lionel. Well set up a date real soon. I've got to go now. I have things I need to get done, which is one of the reasons I'm taking some time off."

"Sure Doc. Just wanted to check up on you. Captain Happy would have wanted me to. See ya soon." Click and he was gone. When Lionel was through talking….you had better be too.

* * *

Arriving at the clinic, Zoe and Iris stepped out of the call car and stopped together. Standing before the door, both women knew everything was about to change….for good or for bad, for John and for them, and all the others who cared for John…...Harold, Sameen and Lionel. Looking at each other they smiled and walked into the clinic.

Meg met them at the door as Iris had requested. "John and Joan are still on the patio. I checked on them about 30 minutes ago and he seems to be doing ok. I don't see any signs of stress or those headaches. How do you want to proceed?"

"Is he awake?" asked Iris. Meg nodded her head and motioned for them to walk ahead of her down the hall.

"He's with Joan. She wheeled him out to the patio a few minutes ago. "Fair warning, he was just a touch grumpy when he woke up." Both Zoe and Iris laughed, each silently remembering just how grumpy he could be.

Zoe and Iris reached the glass doors to the patio at the same time and both of them stopped at the same time. They could see John in the wheelchair beside a patio chair and Joan was seated next to him. His face was turned away from them, looking at something in the small tree next to him. A bird? Joan's head was nodding about something he said. As he turned to face Joan both Zoe and Iris gasped. Even with the long scraggly beard, there was no mistaking those beautiful eyes and those exquisite cheekbones. This was John Reese. THEIR John Reese.

Iris reached out blindly for Zoe's hand. Clasping it tightly she whispered, "It's him. It's really him….it's John."

"Yes." was all the Zoe could manage.

The women stood there looking at the man they had both grieved over and bonded over…..alive and whole, a sight they'd never thought to see again . Neither seemed able to drag their eyes away. Eyes that were filled with unshed tears. Meg called to them both to come back to the office. It took raising her voice to get them to acknowledge her. Both turned dazed eyes back to her as she motioned for them to follow her. They knew they would need a moment to absorb the impact of seeing someone they'd considered dead very much alive.

Once in her office, Meg shut the door. Pointing at the chairs for them to sit in, she walked around her desk and sat down. She was amazed at her own reaction to THEIR reaction to seeing John. There was history there and there was love, a deep love. She truly felt that John was going to be ok. That these two women were going to bring him back all the way.

Finding her voice again Meg said, "That was...wow...intense...I don't know how the reaction that I just witnessed would have affected him. He's had so many of his own emotional moments to handle."

Both Zoe and Iris nodded their heads but said nothing. Neither trusted their own voices at that moment.

"Now, are you both going to be alright? Are you ready to go out to the patio to 'meet' him or do you want me to bring him in here to 'meet' you?"

"What was your overall impression of his mental state, and physical state, this morning when you told him about us?" asked Iris.

Meg thought about it, trying to remember enough details to give an accurate description.

"He took it well. I was amazed at how much he figured out himself." Meg paused and shook her head. "We're not great actors but he knew immediately that something had changed, that we had learned something and that something involved him." Looking up at Zoe and then Iris she felt like they were literally hanging on to her every word.

"John was adamant that we tell him what we knew, how we knew it and who we learned it from. But before he could start to really push us for any information, the headache started. He's trying so hard to remember but the memory just isn't there. He questions us every day about the times he visited us. But he was so secretive, he never let on anything about himself. He only wanted to know how we were doing." Meg finished in an exasperated sigh. "The headaches have been coming more often the more he tries to remember. Their severity is not always the same but I haven't been able to tell why some times are worse than others. When they are really bad, like they were last night, I have to sedate him, which he hates. But he's fine now. He promised to try and give himself a break with trying to remember because he didn't want the headache or the sedation. He wants to meet YOU."

Iris sat deep in thought, putting together the details that Meg had given them. The records Meg had shared with her showed he'd made remarkable progress for someone, who by all rights, should have died from the severity of his injuries and the sheer number of injuries. But as they all knew, John was no ordinary man.

John seemed like his physical healing was progressing it was his mental state that was concerning. All of her training told her that he might _never_ regain his memory. But her instincts told her she KNEW she could help John get it back. If nothing else, that's what she was here for, to help John heal. If he still wished to end their relationship afterwards, then so be it. But no one, not even John himself, could stop her from giving him the help he needed...the help he _deserved_.

"From what you've said I still believe he will not remember us. The fact that his amnesia has such a strong demarcation point, of that day on the subway, just before he met Harold speaks volumes. This was a strong psychotic break. Cut off from the reality of the last five years. Cut off from the people he knew, the work that he did. I'm confident that we can get him back but I can't really know for certain til I can actually talk to him." Looking down at her hands, she paused.

"I think that we should be introduced to him in his room. With him in his bed. That room has probably become a sanctuary to him. His comfort level should be the highest there. And from what you've told me about his relationship with Joan, she absolutely must be there with him. Within arms reach. I believe she is his anchor."

Looking directly at Meg she continued, "If the headaches return, is it too soon to give him something for the pain? Or at least mild enough to take the edge off but not put him to sleep?"

"Yes, I have a couple of different ones that I have on hand. I know he wants to find out everything he can. His frustration is mounting every day because it is happening so slowly. He was dealing with it fine when he was still gravely injured but now that his body is recuperating he's ready." Meg said with a smile. Standing up she continued, "I'll go get the two of them and get him settled back into his room. Then I'll come and get you."

Zoe and Iris smiled and nodded. The battle royal was about to begin.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Meg left Zoe and Iris in the office and went towards the outdoor patio. She needed to get Joan and John back in his room so things were in place for their 'introduction' to him. Walking out onto the patio, she was pleased to hear them talking about the birds in the trees. John seemed to have taken quite an interest in the wildlife, such as it was, on the patio. It seemed to be his 'escape' from the dark world outside the walls of the clinic.

"Ok John, time to get you back into bed. How are you feeling with the bandages I left off?"

John looked up at her and smiled. Meg's heart did a jump; he had a devastating smile, he just didn't use it often enough. But she guessed he hadn't had much to smile about since he was brought to her, unconscious.

"Feeling pretty good. I can actually scratch now when it itches!"

Turning the chair around and pushing it back into the hallway, Meg turned to Joan and said "Joan go pick up that file folder on my desk in my office please. Bring it to me in John's room."

Joan looked a little surprised at being asked to go into Meg's office. The only time she'd been in there was when those two women came about John. Then she remembered they were supposed to come back today to see John. She smiled and nodded to Meg and turned toward the office.

Meg helped John back into the bed. He was still not able to put any weight on the leg that had two bullet wounds and she was concerned about the long term recovery of that leg.

Joan tapped on the door to the office as she opened it. Zoe and Iris turned toward her and both smiled. "Joan, so good to see you again." said Zoe. "How's John doing today?" aked Iris.

Iris listened intently to Joan's 'non-medical' assessment. She felt that Joan saw things in a way that Meg did not. Things that were going to be very just as important as the healing physical wounds in getting 'their John' back.

Putting together Joan's observations and Meg's medical assessment, Iris felt comforted that they were on the right track in taking things slowly. She asked Joan to make sure she was sitting next to John's bed. She felt more than ever that Joan was John's anchor and when his confusion and frustration over his lack of memory started, that she would be the one to best calm him down.

Joan went back to the the room and Meg came back to the office. "I think he's as ready as he'll ever be to take this next step. Though I'd like to go in first and let him know you are here, then when you come in I'll introduce you. Then I guess we'll play it by ear after that?" Meg asked.

Standing up, Iris answered for both herself and Zoe. "Yes, I think we are all ready to proceed. We all need to make sure we remain as calm as possible. If he does start to panic or become confused, WE need to remain calm. I think that will be the hardest part for us." Both Meg and Zoe nodded in agreement. "Let's do this." Meg said as she opened the door and led the way.

Meg walked back into John's room and found Joan sitting by the head of the bed with her hand resting on John's arm as they talked. Good to his promise, John was refraining from asking any more questions that would possibly bring on a headache.

Standing at the foot of his bed, Meg took a deep breath and started John's next step to full recovery.

"John, remember I told you about the two people who came by yesterday? They said they think they know you?"

John nodded but kept his face expressionless.

"Well, they've come back and they would like to meet you face to face. I've told them about your memory loss. I also told them that you have been trying to regain that lost memory and that at times you get headaches. _Debilitating_ headaches." She emphasized and watched as John frowned, but said nothing. "Promise me you will be calm and take it as easy as possible so we can all work through this together." Still frowning, John nodded once and visibly tense.

Stepping back to the door, Meg opened it and stepped aside. Zoe walked in first and then Iris. Meg smiled at them and then turned to John. "John, this Zoe Morgan and Dr. Iris Campbell"

Standing at the foot of his bed, Zoe spoke first, "John..." followed by Iris, "Hello John". Both stood there with neutral expressions on their faces, waiting for John to respond.

John's mouth fell open slightly. His eyes grew bigger and his breathing became slightly louder. He looked from Zoe to Iris and back again. He tried to speak but only a noise came out. Joan reached over and gently clasped his hand. Feeling her small, rough hand in his, John held tight.

"You're...you're...you're women" was all he could gasp out.

Smiling Zoe tilted her head and answered, "Well, yes we are." Iris nodded.

John looked toward Meg with confusion. "I never said they were male or female. I just said they were two people." she said with a smile.

Griping Joan's hand, even tighter, John studied the two in front of him. Meg had said that they knew him….knew him during that 'gray time' that he couldn't remember. They could hold the key to unlocking his memories. But they were strangers to him.

The disappointment was crushing. He had not realized how much hope he'd held onto ever since Meg had explained about who he was to them. But to him, they were nobody. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to contain his frustration, his anger ...his despair? WHY couldn't he remember?

"John, do you mind if we sit down?" the tall striking woman with the wealth of wavy dark gold hair asked. Zoe? Was that her name? "Sure, there should be an extra chair or two." he answered softly.

Zoe and Iris made themselves as comfortable as possible in the two chairs indicated. Zoe sat closest to John while Iris sat back and to the side. The plan was for her to be more of an observer than a speaker. Zoe had known John longer and could better fill in that time that seemed to be blocked in his memory. That also allowed her to watch John closely. Watch him for signals of returning memory or pain from those same memories. She was relatively new in John's life compared to the length of time he had known Zoe. It would makes sense for memories of Zoe to come back faster.

"John, I know you have a lot of questions" said the redhead. Dr. Campbell he recalled? He wondered silently how he had ended up knowing a shrink. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he just couldn't picture himself talking to a shrink in some type of professional capacity. Suddenly a woman with dark hair, pulled up in a twist talking to him as he sat across from her on a couch, popped into his thoughts. Then there was an image of a woman with red gold hair. Then that became a woman with her long dark wavy hair down and standing next to him firing at others in some type of warehouse….and just as quickly, the memory was gone. "We're here to help you start reclaiming your memories." she waited for him to look at her. "We promise to answer as truthfully as possible but we need to take it slow. Meg, I mean Dr. Tilman has explained about the headaches."

John nodded but said nothing. He looked at Zoe and then at Iris, hoping for something, a spark of recognition but nothing. Not even a headache twinge.

"I must be worse off than I thought if I can't remember two beautiful ladies like you." John said with a hesitant smile.

"Well that dry sense of humor tells me you haven't lost ALL of your memory. You still know how to charm." purred Zoe. She smiled at John and tilted her head.

"Want me to tell you how we met?"

"Hell yes!" John said moving around in the bed to get more comfortable. Now he was getting somewhere.

For the next hour Zoe carefully described how John came to be her 'driver/bodyguard'. Weaving a lightly detailed story of their first encounter, she tried to make sure he understood that he was doing a good thing. That he was the good guy. Meg had mentioned that he'd had doubts about whether whatever he'd used to do was ethical or not. He'd been worried that maybe this was why he couldn't remember...because he HAD indeed done some bad things.

Iris sat quietly watching John's reaction to Zoe's story, at the same time, she was learning about a side of Reese that he had only hinted about. His hyper-focus seemed to have tuned out everyone else in the room, as if he and Zoe were the only ones there. Iris felt free to openly watch him. She watched his eyes as Zoe talked, watched his hand, the one not in the sling, clench and unclench, the defensive posture his shoulders telegraphed. But regrettably, she saw no recognition.

At least not at first... She made a few notes about his subliminal reactions to Zoe's stories. When something seemed to be floating around in his subconscious, he blinked. Blinked rapidly. In fact, he probably was completely unaware of the 'tell'.

Zoe paused and looked back toward Iris with one raised eyebrow. Should she continue? Iris nodded slightly.

John saw the look and looked at Iris. "Are you going to be telling me stories too? About the time we met?" Keeping her face "neutral" she answered honestly, "Yes I will tell you, but later. Zoe has known you much longer than I have so she is capable of filling in more of that missing time for you." she answered quietly. John frowned slightly, knowing he was missing something...something important. But it wouldn't take shape, or at least not shape enough for him to even ask a question about it.

Turning his eyes back to Zoe he was met with a beautiful smile, that also had a slight 'come hither' look to it. He suddenly felt there was more than just regular 'history' between them.

Iris's cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. She glanced at the ID and saw that was Sameen. 'Oh God no, not now!' she thought. She briefly considered ignoring it and maybe calling her back later, but knowing Sameen, she'd keep calling until she got an answer.

Iris touched Zoe on the shoulder and whispered, "I need to take this." She stood up and smiled at John. "My apologies but this is work related and I need to take it." She nodded to Joan and Meg and walked out the door.

"Hello, Sameen." she said into the phone as she shut the exam room door behind her.

"Hey Doc. Lionel told me to give you a call and make sure everything's ok. But if you don't wanna talk about it right now, that's ok." Shaw said quickly and without preamble. She certainly wasn't one for small talk.

"I'm fine Sameen. I have just taken a few days off to take care of something." The urge to tell Sameen that John was alive was almost beyond her control. After all the weeks they had talked after losing John, she knew just how important he had been in Shaw's her life. He was her mirror twin. Exactly alike in temperament and ability. She knew Sameen had taken his death badly. Especially so close to having lost Root.

She and Zoe had discussed when to let the other members of John's "family" know that he had survived. After seeing John's confusion and total lack of recognition of her or Zoe, Iris felt that had made the correct decision to not overload him at this time with more people that would just be strangers to him. She just needed to keep Lionel and Sameen at arms length until they could make some headway in John's amnesia.

"You know we got used to having you around. You really helped Harold." Sameen mumbled. She truly was not comfortable talking about 'feelings' .

"I'm glad I could help." Iris replied. "I have talked to him twice since he found Grace. They are both doing very well."

"Good to hear. Well, gotta go, just wanted to check in with you." There was a moment of silence. Iris smiled into the phone. "Glad I could help you too Sameen."

"Thanks...catch ya later." and she was gone.

Even that brief conversation had been exhausting. She wanted so badly to tell her about John but she also had to keep in mind what was best for John right now and making sure to let nothing slip had been extraordinarily difficult.

* * *

Regaining her composure she walked back to the door of the exam room. Iris could see John still talking to Zoe. He still seemed a little reserved but also little more relaxed than when they first walked in. She noted that Joan was still seated next to John with one hand on his arm. The woman definitely was his anchor and was keeping him centered. She definitely needed to learn more about this woman and her relationship to John.

Stepping back into the room, she slipped into her chair. Carefully composing herself to try and return to her 'observation' role, she looked up and was surprised to see John looking at her intently. The slight frown on his face showed her that he was actively trying to remember who she was. It took every bit of her training to keep her facial expression friendly, but neutral. She smiled back at him. Realizing that she'd caught him staring, the man actually blushed! She smiled even wider thinking of how cute it looked to see John Reese discomfited.

Turning toward Zoe to listen to the story she was telling, she gave John time to compose himself.

Continuing with her story, Zoe spelled out their next encounter when she'd helped him help someone else, a regular guy who'd been caught up in the machinations of some politician. As planned, Zoe brought up the name of Harold Finch but got no reaction from John. She spoke about Harold's apparent great wealth; that he and John they worked together to help people in need. That seemed to finally get a reaction.

Iris noticed it first, a slight squint to his eyes, a tightening of his mouth. He was getting a headache twinge. He was trying so hard to remember, an all-out effort. The tightly clenched hands, the set of his shoulders. As Zoe talked the twinges seemed to be getting stronger and closer together. By now Zoe, could see the obvious reaction that John was having to the story she had been telling.

Each twinge had gotten more painful and the squinting of his eyes had given way to a squinty- eyed frown. Iris reached out and softly touched Zoe on the shoulder. Zoe immediately changed the subject. Slowly, her voice died out.

At that moment, Meg stepped forward and announced, 'That's enough for now. You've given yourself another headache, John. I really don't want to give you another pain killer if I can help it." Meg said, looking down at John in the bed. There was now sweat on his face from trying to resist the pain. She hoped they hadn't waited too late to stop. Looking over her shoulder at Zoe and Iris, she motioned with her head for them to leave the room.

John closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. Obviously fighting the headache pain.

* * *

After they exited the room, Meg spoke to Joan. Knowing the calming effect she seemed to have on him, Meg just asked her to sit with him and talk quietly about anything that would help calm him down and ease the pain of the headache. She trusted Joan to do the right thing, as things now stood, she knew John better than almost anybody else. Meg said she'd check back in about 15 minutes to see how John was doing and see if she was going to have to give him the pain killer.

Joan reached out and pried John's fingers off of the sheet and held his hand in hers. She began to softly talk to him about the life they'd spent together all those years ago. Reminding him of the good times together. Keeping his eyes closed, John slowly began to relax as the headache eased.

Patting his hand, Joan tried to remove hers hand but John held onto her tight. "I'm so close Joan. I'm so close to remembering..." Opening his eyes he looked at Joan. "I want to remember but the pain is more than I remember experiencing in Tikrit being tortured. What am I afraid to remember...?"

* * *

Meg, Zoe and Iris settled in Meg's office. All three were almost as emotionally wrung out as John likely was. It definitely was going to be a group effort to help him.

"I think what we're doing is working. He actively wants to remember. He seems to be trying to push through the pain. But I do feel if we push too much, too fast, he may have a true psychotic break."

Meg nodded. "I agree. He did get a little further along before that headache started taking over. I think learning about what he calls the 'gray time' is definitely going to speed things up. Joan and I had reached a wall because we didn't KNOW anything about that time that would help him remember."

Zoe sat there deep in thought, trying to figure out a way to get John more comfortable with them. Especially if he was going to move into her place in two days. They needed something that would allow John to relax and get to know them as friends again. A slow smile spread across her face.

"I've got it. It's time for lunch. Let me order in and we'll all eat together. Like friends. No talk about the past, just everyday things. We've got to get him comfortable with us if he's going to be moving into my place on Friday."

Meg looked at Iris and they both nodded. "Great idea. There's only one place that will deliver in this neighborhood and they happen to have very good food."

Zoe's idea worked wonders for everybody. John's headache eased without medication. The conversation was topical with a couple of chuckles being shared. The five of them spent a quiet hour together eating and talking before Meg's nurse came to get her for a new patient.

Joan began clearing up the remains of the impromptu luncheon and Zoe and Iris talked quietly with John. Zoe did most of the talking and John now reacted to comments she'd make in an easy going manner. Again Iris kept herself in the background watching John's actions and interactions. When John glanced her way she fought with herself to keep things light and positive. His hyper-focus was a bit unnerving. She felt he was looking for something that she was trying to hide, but he wasn't sure just what he was looking for. He was obviously aware that she had said very little, that she had been doing more watching and listening.

"Dr Campbell, I am still wondering how you fit into this 'jigsaw puzzle' Just what happened to me that I would make the acquaintance or need the professional services of a shrink?"

Iris had been prepared for this question. Not much got past John. His memory may be spotty but his observational skills were as sharp as ever. He had been in 'alert/security' mode since she and Zoe had walked into that room. He knew when one of them moved or exchanged looks about something that was said. So honesty was going to be their best bet.

"Part of the time that you have been unable to remember involves with you working with the NYPD."

"What? Me? With the New York Police Department?" John he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, you were a detective actually." Iris added, carefully gauging his reaction.

She noticed the slight squinting of his eyes first. This new piece of information had begun to edge him toward overload. It was an incongruent fact in the picture of he was building of himself during the 'gray time' as he called it. And she hadn't even gotten to the part about him having to see her professionally because of his excessive number of shootings in people's kneecaps. But there was plenty of time for that revelation.

"We'll talk more about that later. I think Zoe and I have almost overstayed our allotted time today. We'll be back tomorrow and we can continue to try and find some answers for your questions. We need to proceed slowly or we'll risk you needing stronger drugs for your headaches." Watching him get annoyed when she called a halt to his questions, she also saw him trying to fight the headache that was gaining momentum and she knew they were right to stop for the day.

"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry; I don't remember either of you." mumbled John. He was trying to decide if he was angry or upset or both. He was tired of taking things 'slow'. Getting up had to be done slowly, moving from his bed to the chair he was to do slowly, shuffling to the bathroom had to be done slowly. He was sick to death of doing everything slow! It didn't matter if it was right or wrong he was tired of going slow!

Iris and Zoe stood up and quickly and said their good-byes before he could protest too much. Joan was there quietly trying to calm him down. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at both of them as they left the room. Everybody seemed happy with the way the afternoon had gone. Everybody except John, of course.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

The ride back to Zoe's condo was quiet. Both women lost in thought about the afternoon with John. Each reviewing in their mind's eye how he looked, how he sounded. The relief that they both felt was immeasurable. However their understanding was markedly different.

Zoe was still floating, exultant over on the fact that she had been right to not accept John's death and that her contacts had come through for her once again. It had been difficult to not reach out and touch him, just so that she could truly feel that he was real. She'd enjoyed telling him about their first meeting. And even more that she had elicited a chuckle from him several times. It had been glorious just to gaze at his beautiful face.

Iris was more circumspect. The joy at finding out he was alive was tempered with wariness about his memory loss. Meg, Zoe and Joan were leaning heavily on her to 'cure' him, to guide him in regaining his memory. She hoped she was up to the challenge. John was a strong willed man. He either would regain all of his memories by sheer force of will...or that same strength might forever keep those memories locked away. It was going to be up to her to find the right key to unlocking his memories. For a brief second, she allowed herself to consider if it really would be such a bad thing if John did not regain his memory. After all, the man had so much he felt he needed to atone for given his experiences. But then she recalled that among the missing parts of his life, were some of the best parts, the parts that had given him a respite from the self-recriminations. If John did not have that to balance out the terrible parts of his life that he DID remember, she knew he would never become the man that she'd fallen in love with. The man that allowed himself to develop healthy relationships with Harold, Zoe, Shaw and Lionel. She smiled ruefully to herself; It came down to the age old debate….nature vs. nurture. In John's case, she believed it was more one than the other and it was up to her to help him get what he needed.

Zoe finally broke the silence. "John looked quite different with that longer hair and that beard. But he can't hide those eyes." Watching Iris's reaction, she continued, " A little thinner don't you think? But I guess that's to be expected after all that's happened to him" Another pause and she asked softly, " Will we get John...our John, back?"

Glancing over at Zoe, Iris answered honestly, "I don't know. I think so...I hope so."

Then she smiled, "Yes, he looked quite different. I am used to seeing John in his white shirt and suit. On occasion he would wear something casual, but he was always either clean shaven or had that scruff. What he had today was a full grown beard!" Stopping for a moment she pictured him as he was yesterday. "His hair is definitely longer. His hair and his beard seemed to be a bit grayer also, didn't you think?"

"You're right! That what was so different. There is more salt than pepper now. Before it was the other way around." Zoe said with a grin.

"So many changes to get used to. For us and for him….." mused Iris.

"What time are we going back tomorrow?" she asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

"I've got some of the medical things being delivered tomorrow morning. I thought we could pick up lunch again and go about 12:30-1:00 ? "

Nodding her head, Iris smiled. She was continually amazed at how focused Zoe was about food. BUT she did have to admit that everyone seemed to relax when they ate lunch together today. It was hard to keep up shields and barriers while chewing your food. Lunch would probably bring the comfort level back quickly for John.

* * *

Zoe dropped Iris off at her place with a promise to call her later. Iris stood on the sidewalk watching the call car drive away. So much had happened in less that 48 hours. Her entire world had changed. And the changes were still coming, with more on the horizon.

Once she got settled in, Iris sat down and wrote up the entire conversation and her observations of their meeting with John. She called later talked to Zoe to clarify a few things and get her take on the conversation itself. She was gratified that Zoe had observed a lot of the same things she had and that they were still on the same page as to the way to proceed. She spent the evening doing more intense research on PTSD. She had dealt with it with the NYPD many times. Speaking to cops after officer involved shootings, dealing with crime scenes that at times were horrific all were common ways of developing PTSD. Some officers reacted well to therapy but there were some that had to leave the force. The more she read, the more she truly felt that it was the correct diagnosis. That alone was half the battle, to know what they were up against...what John was up against. She felt better about their chances of helping John.

Finishing up her notes, she made a quick call to Meg to see how they were doing and how John had handled the afternoon.

The conversation with Meg was brief but informative. She'd given him a mild sedative to take the edge off the pain. He'd slept for about three hours and woke with no headache. He'd asked about the two of them and seemed relieved to find out they'd be back tomorrow. But was also frustrated that there would be no more 'discussion' about the 'gray time' that day. He and Joan had spent more time on the patio and had later watched some TV until he finally went back to his room. She assumed he was asleep.

Thanking her again for what she had done for John, Iris hung up after saying they would be back there just before lunch tomorrow.

* * *

When she was done talking to Iris, Zoe walked out onto her balcony and took a seat, enjoying the view. As she sipped the whiskey she'd bought for him, she let her mind flow back to their conversation today. It had been so good being able to look at him, to talk to him. But it had been disheartening that there had been no recognition on his part. Not of her, not of Iris, nor Harold or the work John used to do with Harold. It was heartbreaking for her to see him struggling to remember...to remember anything. HIs frustration had been difficult to watch.

Zoe was used to being 'the fixer', the one who made things work out. But this was not something that she could 'fix' no matter how badly she wanted to fix it. She was not used to feeling so helpless. She was always the one in control, the one calling the shots...but not now. She hadn't felt so helpless since she was a child and her father had gotten in so much trouble due to his politics. She was just thankful for Iris and her knowledge and ability to deal with this.

Taking another sip, she let her mind flow back to better times, all those times when she'd been sitting on this same balcony with John, looking out of the city. Slowly the whiskey had the desired effect and she finally felt ready for sleep.

* * *

After Meg and Joan had said good night, John lay in the bed thinking about all that had transpired today. He'd met two beautiful, but very different women that knew him during that 'gray time' he couldn't remember. He'd had to completely adjust his line of thinking when he found out that the two people from his past were women and not men! He'd thought perhaps the two people were going to be fellow soldiers, military men or agents of the 'company'. Finding out they were women had been a surprise, a very pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. His whole pre-conceived idea of what he had done during that 'gray time' changed. He'd envisioned something more...intense. But the two women that had shown up didn't strike him as the tough as nails soldier type or CIA spy. But then that would also explain Meg saying how he was dressed when he visited her...in a well made, tailored suit. The work that they'd described must have called for a different skill set that just a grunt in the field. But now he had even more questions about that 'gray time'.

What had that younger woman named Iris said? That he'd worked for the NYPD? WTH? His mind took off in a million different directions with that thought alone. How did he end up with the NYPD, for God's sakes? And as a detective? The sheer volume of what he did not remember was fast becoming mind numbing. Numbing except for the headache that was trying to come back.

Pulling back from that part of the gaping hole in his memory, he decided to focus on the women themselves and what they HAD told him about that 'gray time'. It was a huge challenge to focus because he felt sluggish by the afternoon's events. It wasn't that the physical part had been draining but the mental part had taken a toll on him.

Zoe had told him about how they'd met. There had been a look in her eye when she talked to him that caught his attention. He felt there was a history there. He had a distinct impression that it was a very good history. She was very striking to look at with that long hair. Pausing for a moment in his musings he realized he seemed to have an affinity for women with long hair. Zoe had an air of self-confidence that was almost a challenge; as if she was daring him to misjudge her just because of her looks. She'd seemed relaxed talking to him, giving surface details that didn't require a deeper understanding. Her sense of humor had been very dry...very tongue in cheek. Her clothes were very high end in style and quality. She definitely had an air of an independent woman of means. He wondered what she did for a living.

It was the other woman that truly intrigued him. He realized he didn't know much about her at all. Zoe had done most of the talking but he'd gotten the strong impression that Iris was the one actually calling the shots. But why? Because she was a shrink? He'd noticed the looks that Zoe had given her. And even Meg had seemed to defer to her. There was a lot going on that he didn't understand and that put him on edge.

Iris hadn't said much but he felt she'd been watching him closely. AND watching how he interacted with Zoe and Meg. He'd caught her smiling at Joan more than once. She looked younger than Zoe, not quite as sophisticated. Her attire was nice but casual. Comfortable came to mind. That long, red gold hair had caught his eye. You'd think that would be something he would remember...but he came up with nothing. At least for now. The fact that she was the one who told him about working for NYPD and that she worked there also, made him very anxious to talk to her about his 'job'. But there was more. There was a softness to her, a kindness, a gentleness that he could feel. She'd seemed calm and in control. He felt she was being very careful in the way she looked at him, the emotions that she allowed on her face. What was she trying to prevent him from seeing? Was it something bad? He felt strongly there was something going on behind that carefully neutral facade. It definitely had to do with him and he was ready to find out what. And why did he feel there was a connection with her? One that was different than what he sensed from the other woman, Zoe.

But it was Joan that he'd turned to for reassurance after they had left. Joan knew he had been assessing the visit by the two women. She read him very well. Without him asking, she answered his question. "I like her. I trust her. I trust them both. " and that was good enough for him. At least at the moment. "They came looking for you, John. Remember that."

Finally sleep overtook him and his dreams were filled with the faces of two very different women who knew all about him and hopefully liked what they knew.

* * *

Joan had spent rest of the evening in the room she'd occupied since John had been brought into the clinic. Thinking over the events of the last couple of days, for the first time since she had discovered him in that pile of iron and concrete, she felt hope. Hope that John could make a full recovery. Both physical AND mental. With the help of these two women, she felt that he had strong chance that the emotional healing would happen as well as his physical healing had gone.

Remembering how her son had ended his own life, in despair, in loneliness and in fear, she felt John was getting farther and farther away from that terrible ending. Meg had done wonders with his broken, wounded body. She was still amazed that he survived the collapsed building AND the bullet wounds. She was truly a miracle worker. But meeting the two women yesterday she had been encouraged. Encouraged that they had cared enough to continue searching for him after so long. Encouraged that they seemed to be the missing 'link' to John's past.

Joan's skills at judging people rarely failed her and she'd watched and listened carefully to everything they'd said and done today. She watched Zoe talk in a friendly, relaxed manner about the first meeting between her and John. Weaving moments of truth with moments of light humor had helped with John's stress level. He was so focused on everything Zoe had said that he was wound tight. The times that Zoe was able to drag a smile or soft laugh from him, she could feel his tension ease. Watching her 'flirt' with John had also been eye opening. They obviously had been more than friends and co-workers, at least at some point. But she got the feeling that that was in the past. She smiled to herself, wondering how John was going to react to that memory. She had been impressed with the respect that Zoe seemed to have for John. She liked the effect she'd had on him.

Iris was quite different. She was a deep one. There had been a very strong emotional response from her the first time she'd seen John, even though he was asleep. And that strong emotional response appeared to be one of love. Joan thought she could feel the strength of that love just by watching Iris watch John. She sensed Iris had a history with John and she had a distinct impression that it was a recent one. But watching how Zoe and Iris responded to John when they met him face to face, she noticed that Iris did not show the same emotional response. She was controlling it, or hiding it. That made her watch Iris even more closely than Zoe when Zoe was talking to John. The lack of emotion showing on her face spoke volumes to Joan. Iris was hiding her feelings from John. But why?

Finally giving up trying to figure everything out at once, Joan decided to see what tomorrow would bring and she was able to drift slowly off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Thursday morning was fast becoming the morning from hell. Zoe had been on the phone for hours trying to coordinate the delivery of the medical equipment that Meg had recommended. Then getting the prescriptions that were ordered by Meg to be delivered and arranging for an overnight nurse for the first couple of nights. Zoe had to use all her talents in navigating through all the red tape and bureaucracy that was the medical supply system in NYC.

On top of that, she was fielding phone calls from her current clients. A couple had been testy about her putting them off but her reputation for getting the 'job' done tempered the ruffled feathers. Some she did have to work on, making the phone calls and gathering the necessary information. Normally she lived for the 'stress' and 'tension' in her job but right now that took a backseat.

Uppermost on her mind was John. John would be coming here, here to her home. John who had haunted her dreams for the last month. John who was alive and on his way to being well. At least physically.

Once the medical equipment was delivered and installed and the numerous medicines John required she was ready to go see him. She made one last call to the nursing service to verify the times the nurse would be needed and she was done. Making a quick call to Iris to let her know she was on her way, she checked John's room one last time. This would be his new home for awhile. She wondered if he would ever remember all the times he had visited here. Shutting the door she grabbed her purse and was gone.

* * *

After a rough night of very restless and broken sleep Iris had given up and gotten out of bed. Wandering into the kitchen, she fixed a cup of coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. Opening her laptop she turned it on and waited for it to boot up. Holding the hot cup in both hands she tried to get her thoughts in order for the day.

Rereading her notes from the night before, she developed a strategy that would be the most effective as well as being least stressful way to help John. She realized that she didn't really know just how Meg and Joan fit into John's life. It had been obvious that Joan meant a great deal to him, but that could also be because she was the only one he remembered. She was going to have to talk to both of them before she started really talking to John in depth. She needed to get a feel for all the others who would play a part in John's recovery. She needed to make sure that each and every rock that John stood on during his uphill battle to regain his memory, was a stable one. Yesterday had been Zoe's day and today was her day because tomorrow they were all going to be together when he moved into Zoe's place.

Suddenly she sat up, almost knocking over her coffee cup. John didn't know he was leaving the clinic! He didn't know that he was going to be moving in with Zoe! What if he didn't want to? He probably wouldn't want to burden Meg anymore but he didn't know Zoe or her at all! What if he resisted moving in? She knew he wouldn't want to appear to be a burden. He'd always been so self-sufficient. He just might balk at taking help from either of them. But it was a problem she'd have to solve if it cropped up. How, she wasn't sure yet but she filed it away in her mind to be considered in the event John did not want to go to Zoe's to continue his recovery.

Consolidating her notes with the information she had gathered last night, she felt she had a good handle on how to proceed with John and dealing with the PTSD. Depending on how accepting he was of her diagnosis, it could be a long or short process. Her biggest worry was when those memories started coming back; would they be one at a time or a torrent?

She was dressed and ready when Zoe called to tell her that she was downstairs. It was now time for her to take the lead in John's recovery.

Getting into the car, Iris was immediately enveloped in the delicious smell of Italian spiced food. Looking at Zoe and then the to-go boxes in the seat opposite her she asked, "What's for lunch? Smells divine!"

"I ordered to-go from John's favorite Italian restaurant. We dined there often. Thought it might reawaken a memory or two." Zoe answered with a smile.

Nodding her head, Iris smiled back. "Excellent idea! Sensory memory is very important and helpful." Remembering the taste of John's whiskey-flavored kisses herself, she blushed. Zoe noticed but said nothing, completely understanding the unspoken thought.

"I called ahead and let Meg know we were bringing lunch. She said they would be on the patio in the back. Unless she had a patient, they would all be there." explained Zoe.

"I'd really like a chance to talk to Joan alone before I talk to John today. And Meg too. Maybe you could take in the lunch and get it started while I talk to them?" asked Zoe.

"Sure, won't be a problem. I'll get a little alone time with John myself. Maybe between the food and the conversation something might ring a bell for him."

* * *

John woke up after his own night of restless sleep. His dreams had been all over the place. Dreams from his days in the military, missions he'd done on for the CIA, dreams of life on the streets with Joan. They had been short but very vivid. But it was the other dreams that refused to let him rest. Dreams that were out of focus. He couldn't see the faces in these dreams, they were blurry.. Even the locations of the dreams were foggy. Fuzzy hints of events he felt were part of his life. The frustration at trying to penetrate that fog finally woke him up completely. He felt more tired than he had been when he'd gone to sleep.

Using his one good arm, he rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes. He gave up trying to get any more sleep. He'd hoped to dream about the two women who had come to see him, maybe subconsciously figure out where they fit in that 'gray time'. But if they had been in his dreams, they were too blurry for him to recognize.

Running his hand over his chin he felt the scraggly beard that had grown unchecked for the last month. Then he felt his hair. It was a good bit longer than the 'business man's haircut he remembered wearing for most of his life. Instead this was more like his hair was when he'd lived on the streets with Joan. Maybe he should shave before Zoe and Iris came back. But he'd need Joan's help to shave and cut his hair. He reached for the nurse call button.

John asked the nurse to get him a mirror. Seeing his reflection gave him pause. In the five weeks since he'd woken up here in the clinic, he had not shaved nor had his hair cut. The reflection in the mirror was of the way he last 'remembered' himself. His hair was shorter but the shaggy beard was the same. He used his one good hand to stroke the beard again. He was definitely going to need Joan's help to get rid of the unkempt mess.

Joan tapped on the door and waited for John to respond. Opening the door she was surprised to see him staring at a mirror. To be such a good looking man, John had never struck her as someone overly concerned about his looks.

"Joan, can you help me do something about this beard? I don't think I can do anything with just one hand."

Joan walked up to the front of John's bed and really looked at him. The change in his looks had been gradual these last couple of weeks so she hadn't really noticed the difference. But he did look like he had when they'd first met five years ago. His hair was shorter now, and seemed there was more gray mixed in than it had back then.

"Yes, I can help you with that. Did you want to shave off the beard or just…..neaten it up?" she asked

"I think I just want to neaten it up for now…and maybe I should trim my hair too while we're at it." He replied.

.

After about 30 minutes they came out of the room and headed back toward the patio. The nurse saw them when they passed by and did a double take. With his haircut and facial hair trimmed, he looked like a different man!

* * *

Arriving at the clinic Zoe and Iris brought in the multitude of to-go boxes. The nurse at the front desk got them a cart to load everything on it. Once it was loaded Zoe looked at Iris. "Who would you want to speak to first, Joan or Meg?"

"I'd like to speak to Joan first please. I'm going to speak to Meg about using her office but I'd prefer to speak alone with Joan first."

The nurse advised Iris that Meg was finishing up with a patient and would be out shortly. She told Zoe that Joan and John were already out on the patio.

Pushing open the doors to the patio, Zoe was busy trying to get the cart of food through and didn't see John at first. Joan was quick to help her with the door and get the cart over to the table to set up for lunch.

Zoe turned to speak to John and was caught completely off guard by the man sitting in the wheelchair in front of her. The neatly trimmed beard was shorter and his hair was shorter and combed. This was much closer to the John that she remembered.

"Well hello there." she said with a smile. Glancing at Joan she was met with a nod and a knowing smile. What a difference a pair of scissors and a razor could make!

"Good morning, or is it afternoon?" said John with a slight smile. He'd been waiting impatiently for Zoe and Iris to return but now that they were here, or at least Zoe was, he felt slightly unsure, almost ill at ease. Oh, it wasn't the kind of unease he remembered feeling during his missions, the kind of unease that a soldier listened to or else he died. Just felt uneasy because he truly didn't know this woman, didn't know how to react to her and THAT was something he didn't feel often around women. He vaguely recalled his mom teasing him about that.

He glanced at Joan who gave him a warm, reassuring smile. As anxious as he was to learn about the missing part of his life, he was also apprehensive about just what he would find out. The fact that all four of these women, Joan, Meg, Zoe and Iris seemed happy to see him wasn't much of a reassurance. He still had reservations about the past he couldn't remember because of the things he'd done in the past that he _did_ remember.

"It's right at 12:00, lunch time!" said Zoe. Turning to Joan she said, "Iris wanted to see you for a moment, if that's ok. I think she's in Meg's office."

Looking slightly surprised, Joan patted John on the shoulder and went back inside.

"You look very nice today, John. More like the man that I knew…know."

"Hope you're hungry. One of your favorite types of food is Italian. I ordered this from one of your favorite restaurants we used to go to. I thought you would enjoy it and it might bring back some good memories."

"It smells wonderful and I am most definitely hungry!" Giving Zoe a big smile, "Can't think of a better way to try and bring back some memories."

* * *

Shortly thereafter Meg came out of an examining room drying her hands on a paper towel. Seeing Iris she gave her a welcoming smile. "So are the two of you the source of that amazing smell? What's for lunch?"

"Zoe ordered some food from one of John's favorite restaurants...hoping to maybe stir up some memories." Iris replied.

Changing the subject she asked, "I would really like to speak to Joan alone before I see John today. Would it be alright to use your office?"

"Certainly you can! Anything to help John."

"Thank you, I was hoping you would say that. Zoe has taken the food to the patio and was going to send Joan back up front. You go ahead and grab a bite to eat while I talk to Joan. And, if you don't mind, I would also like to talk to you alone before I talk to John. Maybe after Joan and I speak?"

Giving Iris a quick hug Meg said, "Anything you need, let me know. We all want the same thing...a healthy John.. Yesterday was an emotional day for all of us." She handed her office door key to Iris and headed back toward the patio and the wonderful smell of good food.

Once in Meg's office, Iris sat in one of the two chairs in front of her desk. She felt more comfortable talking to people without the 'desk of authority' between them.

A light tapping on the door let Iris know Joan was there. Inviting her in, she gestured for her to sit in the chair next to her.

"We haven't had time to talk since Zoe and I appeared on the doorstep a couple of days ago. Things have been happening at a very rapid pace and some introductions have gone by the wayside." Iris began with a friendly smile.

She was rewarded with an answering smile from Joan. And best of all, there seemed to be no suspicion in her look. Only interest...and surprisingly, compassion.

"From watching you and John together, he obviously cares for you very much. What I have observed is that you seem to be his 'safe place', his anchor if you will. When things begin to get out of his control or when his stress level starts rising faster than he can control, you are the one the helps him find that control again. There is obviously a deep and caring history between you two. I think, if you are willing to share that story with me, it will help me help him."

Joan nodded her head. She liked the way that Iris talked to her. Not patronizing the way that most people talked to street people IF they even deigned to acknowledge their presence. No, Iris talked to her with consideration just like she would any other person. Joan looked closely at Iris and felt she was telling the absolute truth...that she wanted to know about her story so she could help John. The John that the both of them cared so much about.

"I'll tell you everything you want to know...but there has to be a trade off." replied Joan.

That caught Iris off guard. Maybe she had underestimated Joan. There was certainly more to her than she first surmised. Then she frowned, "Trade off of what? Information?" she asked.

"I'll tell you about how John and I met if you tell me about your relationship with John." She answered shrewdly.

Joan watched the reaction Iris had to her 'demand'. She had been right. There was a history there, a relationship…...but, she sensed, it had been different than the relationship that she had sensed between John and Zoe.

Looking at Joan she realized, that Joan loved John. Loved him very much. He was the son she had lost. And that Joan was willing to do anything to not lose John.

Looking Joan in the eyes she smiled and said "Deal."

And they exchanged their stories. Each telling more than they had ever told anyone else. There was an understanding between them that their love for John had the same fierceness that made them both want to fight for whatever was needed to bring him back.

After a pause, where they both felt talked out, Joan reached toward Iris and held her hand. "Bring him back. Bring him back to all of us…please" Patting Iris's hand, she stood up.

"I think I need to get back to John. He seems to get nervous if I'm gone too long."

Iris stood and followed Joan to the door. "He's going to continue to need you. Especially when his memories start coming back. I don't know if they will be one at a time or all at once…..but he will need you…..you ARE his safe place, where he will retreat to if and when, he feels overwhelmed." Placing her hand on Joan's shoulder she said "Even when he leaves here, he will need you. Zoe will make sure you are able to visit him anytime." Joan smiled, relief showed in her face that she would not be losing contact with him when he left the clinic.

Following Joan out the door, they both made their way to the patio. Lunch had been set out and John was already enjoying the Italian repast. Twirling the pasta on his fork like a pro, he seemed relaxed and happy.

Iris paused at the door when she saw John. A John with shorter hair, and a much neater and shorter beard. Other than the lighter color due to being grayer, he truly looked like her John. It had been easier yesterday, when he didn't look so much like her John. It had made it easier for her to keep him, and her feelings, at arms distance. But now, he looked almost the same. Her breath caught in her throat and she waited inside the door to collect herself. Biting her bottom lip, she took a deep breath and opened the door to the patio.

"Good morning John, how are you today?" she said in a soft, friendly voice.

Turning at the sound of her voice, John gave her a tentative smile. Trying to gauge her reaction to him, he was inordinately happy to see her smiling at him. He wasn't quite sure why that mattered so much to him, but it did.

Lunch was spent enjoying the food and talking about topical subjects; everyone carefully steering away from heavy conversation. Meg actually was able to enjoy a whole hour of lunch before another patient arrived at the clinic. Joan and Zoe began cleaning up the leftovers.

Iris looked at John and smiled. "Are you ready?" leaving the question open ended.

John knew immediately what she meant and nodded. "Out here or inside?"

"I think we'll do better inside. A little more privacy. Would your room be ok?"

John nodded and started rolling his wheelchair inside. Iris took over and began pushing him through the hallway. Once they were in his room, she let go.

"I'll be right back. I have a quick question for Meg."

"Sure, I'm not going anywhere." John answered dryly.

Finding Meg outside one of her examining rooms, she asked if she had a moment.

"You never had a chance to tell me how you met John. Since that seems to be around the time of his 'break' in memory I feel I need to know a little bit of detail."

"Sure, I'll be glad to. It was not a good place in my life, but John changed all that. He stopped me from ruining my own life…and taking someone else's."

That brought Iris up short. She listened with amazement to how John had changed the course of the young woman's life. And how this mysterious benefactor of his had helped set up the clinic they were standing in. Iris figured that benefactor was Harold but Meg said she never knew who it was. That would explain why Meg had not tried to find Harold. She didn't know about him.

After hearing the whole story, Iris was impressed with what Meg had made of her life once John had stepped in. She was actively giving back to others to give them a second chance just as she had been given. Iris was amazed all over again at the goodness in John.


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Excusing herself from Meg, Iris made her way back to John's room. The door was open and she glanced in. He moved around in the wheelchair like a pro. There wasn't a lot of room in there except for the bed. But it looked like the bed had been moved farther away from the door, providing an area where they could sit and talk.

The newly trimmed beard on him looked great but was so different. He'd usually had a scruff, at most, a day or two beard most of the time at work. But he would shave when they went out to dinner together or when he came over to her apartment. Now he looked different and yet the same. Just enough different to remind her he was not the same man before that horrible day on that rooftop, no matter how he 'looked'.

She knew that man was still inside of him. Whether in hiding or in self-preservation in response to the things he had done in his past.. It was going to take everything she had to help bring him back and to help him assimilate those two parts of himself.

Tapping on the door, she called his name. He looked up with a smile that took her breath away. It had been so long since she'd seen that smile. Since that terrible day when they'd their talk in the park.

"I tried to make us a little bit of room for us to sit and talk." Gesturing toward the bed he continued, "I'm tired of being in that thing."

Smiling as she sat down in the comfortable chair that Joan usually sat in, Iris answered, "Good, I like it. It felt unnatural, you being in the bed and me…..." Her voice trailed off as she realized just what she'd been about to say.

John's attention suddenly zeroed in on her. "And you... what? Finish what you were going to say." John held his breath, anxious about what she would say next, what she would have _implied_ with her words.

Iris's mind scrabbled quickly to come up with something _other than_ what she'd been about to give away. "...and me in a chair listening to you. I'm not one of those stereotypical psychologists who has the patient reclining on the couch." She sighed inwardly with relief. She wasn't ready to face his inevitable rejection of their relationship a second time. Not yet, not when she'd just gotten him back.

"Oh." was all he said but she thought she saw a fleeting look of disappointment. Or maybe her mind was just making her see what she wanted to see.

They both sat there for a moment looking at each other. Their thoughts were quite different.

His was more a direct approach. He took in details that he had not been able to when there had been others around. He was looking for something familiar, something he could remember. She was pretty. Not necessarily beautiful, but very pleasing to the eye. Her long red-gold hair, her light green eyes, the light make-up and almost no jewelry. Her lack of sophistication intrigued him. There was an air of hidden complexity. There was more than met the eye. It made him think of the phrase "still waters run deep." What was it that drew his attention to this woman more than any other woman? There was something more. The kindness in her eyes, the serenity she displayed, the gentleness and caring in her demeanor... He was looking for hints that would bring the nature of their relationship back into his memory. He felt strongly that there was something there...

Hers was looking at the face that had been in her dreams every night since Zoe arrived on her doorstep that fateful night. The longer hair was grayer than she remembered. He had some horrific wounds to heal from so it made sense how his body reacted to the stress put on him. The beard only accented the classic angles in his face. His cheekbones stood out in rather stark relief because he was thinner than he had been. But it was his eyes that held her interest the most. Those beautiful, all seeing, watchful eyes. Taking in everything, seeing everything...judging, cataloging. But the one thing she did not see was recognition. Curiosity, yes but no recognition of who she was.

"So, I thought we'd start off with me telling you who I am and how I know you through the NYPD".

"As I told you, I am a psychiatrist for the NYPD. I am assigned to work at the 23rd Precinct. I am there for multiple reasons: as a sounding board for troubled cops, as a willing ear for those who need to talk but can't talk at home. I help officers deal with the realities of their day to day jobs." Pausing for a moment she let her words sink in. Trying to convey that her job was to help members of the NYPD. "Most of the time, a superior recommends someone to come talk to me. Something has happened, caught their attention about one of their officers and they seek help for them before things get too bad."

John watched her closely, listening to what she had to say. It sounded like something the police department would need and it would obviously help the officers involved. They'd had head shrinks in the Army too. But he did not see how it applied to him. At least not yet. She had said he was a member of the NYPD...but he had no memory of it.

Watching John, Iris could sense his understanding but again, not his recognition. He clearly did not remember being in the NYPD at all. She could also see the slight frustration showing when he was trying to remember but coming up empty.

"You had been referred to me by your Captain because of the number of officer involved shootings you had. A rather high number in a very short period of time, actually." Seeing John's reaction to the word 'shootings' she was quick to tell him that none were fatal. "Your shootings all seemed to be directed at one part of the person you were pursuing...you shot them in the knee cap."

Pausing for a moment, she watched him take in that piece of information. "You once told me that you shot them in the knee cap because that meant they couldn't run from you and that it was seldom fatal." she finished with a smile.

Remembering his time in the Army and his time with the CIA, he was surprised that 'not killing' a suspect was even relevant to him. All his experience told him that if you didn't kill an enemy, he would just come at you again from behind when you weren't looking. So what changed him from a highly trained killer with the CIA to someone who deliberately did not kill? He had learned early in his career with the CIA that he was very good at killing people. But he viewed killing differently than Kara had. She seemed to actually enjoy the kill; but for him it was a job, nothing more. He derived no pleasure from the kill itself, but rather from getting a job done.

Becoming attuned to Kara as his teacher, mentor, handler, and partner, he'd realized that she took pleasure in the torture and the actual killing. Discovering that facet of her personality had been eye-opening and he had begun distancing himself from her and her methods. He killed when needed but made sure it was as quick because he never enjoyed seeing anyone suffer. He had always gone for the kill shot. Kara had handled all the physical interrogations. He could and would threaten torture but it was always Kara who actually did the dirty work. It disarmed many a victim to have a man threaten torture but a woman actually DOING the torture. More than a few times he'd had to step in when it was getting out of hand or when he would realize they were getting no more intel from the victim.

So finding out he was deliberately NOT killing but only looking to disarm or disable someone was a totally different mindset for him. He really HAD changed from his days in the CIA to his days as a police officer. Apparently he still went after bad guys…..but for some unknown reason, he was being careful to only disarm/disable. He rolled the idea around inside his head, deciding that this was a MUCH better way of dealing with the baddies. He paused for a moment, however….was this new philosophy of his the reason why he was here in this hospital? Even if it was, he decided that it was worth it; It was worth it to no longer have to carry around the burden on his conscience of those he'd had to kill to make sure many more lived. But what other changes in himself had been made?

He suddenly realized that Iris had quit talking. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he realized he hadn't heard a word she'd said. Apparently she realized it too. With a sheepish smile he apologized. Iris just smiled back and nodded and then continued.

"When an officer is referred to me, I am given access to all of the information in that officer's permanent records. I checked your background before your first appointment. You had been in the Narcotics Division, undercover, for a couple of years. The department has always tried to be careful when someone is undercover too long. Some begin to identify with the people they are investigating. In the meantime, there had been a change in the department and you got a new boss. But you had been undercover so long, so deep undercover, that a large portion of your original file was lost. Your early career records were rather vague or in some cases, nonexistent, which I found unusual. But you made a major bust and it was felt it was time to get you out of that division and out of undercover. That bust had impressed someone high up and you were transferred to Homicide."

Again Iris paused, letting her words sink in. And giving him a chance to ask questions to clarify anything. But once again, she could tell he was actively trying to remember but nothing was happening.

John looked down and slowly shook his head. Why was none of this familiar to him? How could he forget he was in the police department? The NYPD? What was he afraid to remember? Going from CIA to NYPD was quite a jump…..unless he was undercover? No…..He remembered getting out of the CIA…..literally going AWOL while letting the CIA think he was dead. It had been the only way to break their hold on him short of _actually_ being dead. So how did he go from 'dead' to working for the NYPD?

Looking back up at Iris, his eyes conveyed his confusion and his fear. Panic was in the fringes..

Iris reached out for his hand, resting hers lightly on his. Leaning forward she looked him in the eyes.

"John, I really, REALLY need you to listen to me. You are trying too hard to remember." She waited until she had his full attention. "You can't FORCE your memory to return. What I want you to do is LET your memory return. There is a difference."

The frown on his face slowly faded and the ghost of a smile appeared. He felt she was giving him hope that his memory would return...that maybe all was not lost.

"Shall we continue?" she asked.

"Definitely."

"I checked further into your file. It was in-depth but it lacked...um, substance. It felt like I was reading a 'story' about you, not really reading about YOU."

John blinked, blinked three times. A clear 'tell' of a memory on the fringes. Harold had told her about creating identities for John when they were working together. John had been a chameleon, taking on different personalities to blend with the identities created by Harold. She had phrased her comment that way to elicit a reaction from John...and she'd gotten one. She was suddenly struck that maybe THAT was also part of his inability to remember his past. Maybe because some of those 'memories' were fake ones, ones tied up to an identity that he'd assumed. That certainly put a kink in her original plan to help him regain his memory. She may need to get more info from Sameen and Lionel while still keeping the knowledge of John's survival secret from them. Now HER head was beginning to hurt.

Suddenly he was in another place. Transported back into one of the dreams from the night before. A place filled with people with no faces. Some pulling him toward them, some trying to run away from him. He reached out but couldn't touch them, they just faded away. They were unrecognizable because they were faceless. He found himself feeling anxious, needing to act, needing to protect ...who? From what? Shaking his head side to side he was lost in a memory that had no substance.

Iris pulled his hand into hers. That simple touch brought him back. Brought him back out of the dream. He looked at her with extreme wariness and pulled his hand away. Looking around the room it came back to him, he remembered where he was, in Meg's clinic. Turning back to Iris he grimaced, not liking where he had 'been'.

"Let me tell you a little bit about some other people who care a great deal about you.. You've heard us mention their names but they have not registered with you ...yet."

"Other people? Are they here? Are they here now?" John asked in alarm. There was just an edge of panic. Would he would have to deal with more people who knew him but that he didn't know.

"No, they're not here. As a matter of fact, they don't know we've found you." answered Iris, watching John closely. "They still think you're dead." Letting that last sentence hang, Iris watched carefully for John's reaction, of which there was none, not even a hint of recognition.

"You don't need too many people around you right now that you don't know. I think it would be best to wait a little longer before introducing you to the others."

"Yeah, that sounds good to me." mumbled John. Part of him wanted to see these other people . See if he remembered them. But then another part of him thought about what Iris had said...about too many people he didn't know. Looking back at Iris he saw concern but he also saw compassion and something else. It wasn't pity. He certainly didn't need or want pity. But he knew he needed her help. He needed her.

"Can you at least tell me something about them?"

Iris told him about Harold and Sameen and Lionel. She did not mention the people that he had lost. Harold had told her about Det Carter, and two men, Elias and Anthony. And Sameen had finally opened up, somewhat, about Root. But she didn't think that John could handle hearing about people he'd lost.

What she told him was not too detailed. That would come later. She just wanted him to have a context of where these people and these names fit into that 'gray time'.

Watching his reaction, or lack of reaction, to hearing Harold's name, and Sameen's and Lionel's she noted his amnesia was within a clearly defined 'box' of who he remembered and who he did not. The consistency of his memory loss was good. She felt when they unlocked one of those doors, the others would open much more easily.

Leaning forward again, she grasped his good hand and made him look at her. "One thing I want to tell you right now, and this is THE most important thing to remember. Harold, Sameen and Lionel are VERY important to you but they would understand that you couldn't handle seeing them right now. Do you understand?"

Looking at Iris's face so close to his own, John felt the urgency in what she was trying to convey. She had his complete attention. "Yes, they are important to me."

"I don't know exactly when and how your memory will return. It may come as one or two memories or it may come as a deluge, like a dam breaking. I may or may not be with you when it happens. But I truly do believe that it will happen. Do you understand me?"

Iris was almost desperate to get him to understand the seriousness of what she was about to tell him.

"I get it. They are important to me. I may remember them one at a time or all at once. Right?" John answered back a little roughly. He didn't like being told something more than once. He got it. He had been listening.

"John, I think your amnesia, your lack of memory, is a symptom of PTSD. Do you remember what that is?"

That caught him up short. Pulling his hand out of hers, he sat back. Putting as much distance between himself and Iris. Suspicion now took over the expression on his face and in the look in his eyes.

"Yes. I was in the military. I am familiar with it. What makes you think I have PTSD? Doesn't that usually happen due a traumatic event of some sort? "

" Yes, that's right. The actual definition is a mental health problem that some people develop after experiencing or witnessing a life-threatening event. John, you almost died in that explosion. You know the extent of your injuries. Meg was a miracle worker to have patched you up after being so badly injured from the collapse of the building not to mention being shot multiple times!" When she got no response she continued, "John, I believe that a big part of this is about WHY you were on that rooftop. There must have been an important reason. But that is the moment that your mind has chosen to protect you from. There was a physical result from that explosion and there was a mental result from that explosion. The physical part has been handled but the mental part is going to take longer…...and I believe it will be the most painful which is why your mind is still protecting you."

Watching him closely she finally said what was the way she hoped he'd accept her diagnosis. "PTSD doesn't make you weak, it makes you a survivor."

John looked at Iris and realized that she was having trouble with the memory of what had happened to him. For just a moment he saw something in her eyes, the way she was looking at him. But as quickly as he saw it, it was gone He squeezed her hand back with his own.

Looking down at their clasped hands Iris took comfort in his concern for her. Looking back up she found him watching her. His head was slightly tilted to one side. His eyes had narrowed a little bit, waiting for her to continue.

"In case your memories start coming back, and you are alone you must remember one thing above all else. No matter how frightening those memories may be...you must hold on to this one thought."

""They are ALIVE John. Harold and Sameen and Lionel are alive. They survived because of YOU."

A look of confusion was on his face but quickly disappeared. He had obviously been deep in thought about the last thing she had said. That was good. She needed him to hold tightly to that thought.

"I need to go and speak to Meg for a moment. Will you think about what we've talked about? Will you be ok?"

He smiled and said, "I'm a big boy, I can handle being alone."


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Iris walked out of his room and began her search for Meg. Finding her in her office she tapped on the door to get Meg's attention. Her answering smile welcomed her in.

"So, how did things go? Did John handle things like you had hoped?"

"I was very pleased at the way he accepted what I told him. I didn't go into detail but I did talk to him about his job at NYPD and how we met. None of which seemed to register with him, which I expected. But at least now he has 'heard' how things were. I'm hoping the more familiar I can make him with moments of his past, the easier it will be for him when his memory does return."

"Then you really do believe he will recover his memories? All of them?" asked Meg hopefully.

"There were some very encouraging moments during our talk. A reaction here and there to what I'd told him. Maybe not complete understanding, but a reaction. Yes, I think his chances are very good. Now that his actual LIFE is out of danger, thanks to you, I think his mind is ready to heal also."

"That is the best news yet!" said Meg with a big smile. "What's next on the agenda?"

"I am so glad you asked that. Do you realize that John has no idea he's leaving here tomorrow? No idea that he's moving in with Zoe?"

"Oh my God! You're right! We've all been so wrapped up in meeting you and Zoe and finally getting him some help. Do you think that will be a problem?"

"I honestly don't know. I think we need to tell him today. Tomorrow will be too late. He'll need some time to adjust to leaving here. I have a feeling he will be…resistant." Iris explained. "Not about the leaving but probably about moving in with Zoe. Remember, to him she and I are strangers. It might be best if we, you, me, Zoe and Joan, present a united front. That we all feel this is the next logical step for him to take." said Iris hopefully.

Meg nodded her head in agreement. "I agree. We need to tell him today. Might be best coming from me as his doctor and since he'll be helping me by giving up his room."

Iris smiled. "It would seem we are on the same page. Let me get back to him. You'll bring Zoe and Joan to his room? I still believe his room provides him with that sense of security, familiarity which will help with this kind of major change for him."

"Let me finish making my notes about my last patient and I'll bring the others along." said Meg as she turned back to the chart in front of her.

Walking back to John's room, Iris detoured to check on Zoe and Joan in the courtyard. Stopping inside the door she had to smile. Seeing Zoe and Joan relaxed and enjoying each other's company was interesting. John had so many people, from so many walks of life, that cared for him. She hoped he'd regain his memory soon, so he could appreciate all the love that surrounded him. Talking to Harold, Sameen, Lionel and Zoe, to Meg and to Joan, she found each had a deep but profound love and admiration for John. He probably never knew just how much he meant to others. She could only imagine what the people he had helped felt about him. He was important to so many people….including her.

Opening the door she walked outside. Zoe and Joan both turned to her with smiles. Both looked at her expectantly.

"Things are moving along very well. I had a very nice talk with John. He's coming to realize just how much he does NOT remember and that is becoming almost as much of a problem as the lack of memory itself. But I think we've got a more immediate concern."

Iris reminded them both, like she had Meg, that John had no idea he was leaving the clinic tomorrow. Much less that he was moving in with Zoe. Zoe and Joan both looked chagrined. Everyone was making decisions for John without discussing it with him. They all agreed he might be resistant to moving in with Zoe but they also thought he'd understand why he needed to vacate his room at the clinic.

Looking at Joan, Iris said, "I believe his acceptance of the situation actually is dependent on you Joan. I've called you his anchor before and I believe it even more so now, after talking to him. This clinic has been his sanctuary while his body healed but your presence has helped his mind and his heart heal. I think he will be concerned about losing contact with you."

Zoe immediately spoke up, "Joan you are more than welcome to visit any time, as often as you like, for as long as you like. I will bring you to my home myself." Looking over at Iris and then back at Joan, "I agree with Iris about how dependent he is on you Joan. He needs you."

Joan smiled at the two women. It eased her mind about losing contact with John. He may be dependent on her, but she had also become dependent on him. She felt she was giving him the love and support she had not been able to give her son.

"Give me a minute before you come to his room. Make sure Meg is with you. We need to make sure we show him that we all feel this is best for him."

Smiling to herself, Iris made her way back to John's room. Once again, she tapped on the door, waiting for him to answer. He took a little bit longer to answer than she'd expected which made her heart jump. But he did and she opened the door. He hadn't moved since she'd left the room.

"Are you ok?" she asked softly. Concerned about his slumped shoulders, and bowed head.

"I'm not really sure." he answered. "There is so much I don't remember. That I can't remember. Almost five years….of people I've met, of things I've done…."

Sitting down across from him Iris waited for him to look at her before speaking. "John, I do think you will recover your memory. To be honest, I can't say I'm a 100% sure but I truly do believe you will. You just need to give yourself some time. Your body needed time to heal and your mind will also need time to heal." Iris said, watching him closely. "You have only realized, in the last week, how much time is missing for you. You need to give your mind a chance to heal also. Amnesia is usually a self-preservation reaction. Your mind was overcome with more than it could accept so it locked away those memories until you are better able to handle them. And you will be able to handle them, when you are ready."

John looked up at her with doubt in his eyes but also hope, that she was right.

Another tapping on the door and John called out "Come in".

He was surprised to see Zoe, Meg and Joan all come in together. Looking at Iris and then back at them he raised one eyebrow. Everybody came and spoke to him and chatted among themselves. John continued to watch. Once everybody seemed to be comfortable the talking quieted down to nothing.

Taking in the 'united front' they seemed to be displaying, John cleared his throat and said, "This looks like an intervention of sorts. Are you all here to convince me to do something I may not want to do …..or to tell me something I may not want to hear?"

He was in full watch and observe mode, gauging their reactions to his question. He was impressed that none of them looked at the other. So whatever was going down had apparently already been decided beforehand. He didn't think he'd said or done anything to make any of them angry….or, and he hated to even put this thought into words, had he done or said anything that would make them afraid of him?. There were still enough gaps in his memory to give him pause. So, who was going to speak first? He tilted his head slightly to the side and decided to outwait them.

Meg finally bit the bullet and began speaking. "Yes John, it is a type of intervention but not in the way you think. You have come a long way since you were brought in here, more dead than alive. I've been able to patch you up physically but it was your own stubborn will to live that let you survive all those injuries."

She paused for a moment, making sure he was truly listening to her. "You have been staying here where I could keep an eye on your progress AND because you had nowhere else you could go." Looking over at Joan she continued, "Joan insisted you wouldn't want to be taken to a hospital. There were quite a few times I regretted that decision but thankfully you did survive."

John continued to sit there, not speaking. Meg was leading up to something but she hadn't spelled it out yet. A slight frown appeared on his face as he tried to puzzle it out.

Taking a deep breath Meg continued, "But now it is time for the next step in your recovery. You have been welcome here while you recovered physically. But now I really need your room back for my patients. The weather is getting warmer and that means tempers are getting hotter and you know what happens with that."

That caught him by surprise. He was not expecting to be told he had to leave. But it made sense. This was a small clinic and he knew that Meg had given up her 'room' long enough. It had not even crossed his mind that his presence here may have been a burden on her.

He straightened up in the wheelchair and looked Meg in the eye. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think about the space I was taking up in your clinic. I can leave today if you need me to…." was all he got out before he was interrupted.

"John, it's ok. I needed you here so I could take care of your injuries. You really should have been in a hospital but being here allowed me to keep a very close eye on you. As far as the room, I was able to handle my patients fine with a little creative maneuvering." she said with a smile. "But now I think you've reached the point that you need somewhere different, somewhere bigger, with better scenery, to continue your progress. AND I do need my room available for the coming weekend."

"Like I said, I can leave today if you need me to." Repeated John. But then he looked down at the wheelchair realizing he couldn't just walk out of the clinic. "But I guess I need to borrow this wheelchair for a while….." his voice drifted off as he realized there was more involved than just leaving.

Zoe realized it was time to make her offer. "John, I thought you could come stay at my place. I have an extra room available. And I can get you the wheelchair and other things you may need."

She waited to see his reaction before continuing.

Looking up at Zoe, shock was clearly evident on John's face. "Stay with you? At your place?"

After a lot of talking and explaining and reassuring, John finally came around to the fact he had no place to go but Zoe's. He completely understood Meg's needing his room. It was moving in with someone who knew him but that he did not remember that he resisted. Attractive as she was, Zoe was still a stranger. He knew physically he was in no shape to argue with the decision that had been made for him. Being the naturally stubborn man that he was, it took a lot of convincing from all sides that this was the right thing to do. It was the ONLY thing to do.

Zoe explained to him that he'd have his own bedroom and bathroom, that there would be a nurse to stay over night the first couple of nights til he settled in and would be helping him with physical therapy for his arm and his leg. Assurance that all the necessary medical equipment he needed was already delivered and set up per Meg's instruction helped in getting his compliance. The biggest element, that seemed to be a barrier, was overcome when Iris brought up that Joan would be visiting him often. She would bring her to him herself. That finally eased the last bit of apprehension that John had about the move.

The rest of the afternoon was spent making sure all the necessary medical supplies were on hand. The checklist was getting longer by the minute. Zoe and Meg were deep into logistics. Joan and Iris spent time with John helping him navigate between the wheelchair and the walker. His left leg was very weak and taking a much slower time to heal than his right one. Two bullet wounds don't heal as fast as one. He thought sardonically. Needing two hands for the walker was not easy when one of his arms was still in a sling. He was unable to use it at all. For the moment the walker was mainly used stand up but not to actually walk with. The physical therapy would help with that.

Saying goodbye that evening had been different. A whole new world was going to open for all of them tomorrow. Meg would have a 'long distance' relationship with John, visiting him when needed or when able versus everyday. Joan would not be with John every moment of every day. John would be out of his protected environment that had been his home since he 'woke up'. Zoe's home life was going to change in a major way by having John as a roommate. Iris was going to be fighting three battlefronts: Helping John with his memory but keep their previous relationship out of it if at all possible, continuing to stay in touch with Sameen and Lionel but not let on about John and working with Zoe to help John reclaim his life.

John, Joan and Meg spent their last evening together on the patio. It was a quiet evening and Meg only had two patients needing her help. Joan and John talked about their time together on the street, what Joan was going to do when John moved out of the clinic and other things just between the two of them. Their time together these last couple of weeks to strengthen their bond.

Sleep that night was long in coming for everybody.


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

The next morning was spent getting things packed up and ready to go. John had very little to 'pack'. They had cut his clothes off of him to treat his injuries when they brought him in. He had been wearing donated clothes since then. They were worn but clean and comfortable. He was able to put all of his 'worldly belongings' in a plastic bag.

Zoe and Iris arrived in a large call car to take him to her place. Holding the plastic bag in his lap, Joan wheeled John outside to the car. The wheelchair would be staying at the clinic since it was the only one the clinic had.

Standing by John in the wheelchair, Zoe looked around for John's thing to get loaded into the trunk. Seeing nothing but the bag in his lap she asked, "Is that all you have to take with you?"

John picked up the bag from his lap and said with a smile, "I travel light". Looking at the bag of donated clothes, he suddenly saw a gun in his hand instead. Looking away he thought he saw the vague outline of a man walking away with a limp. Shaking his head he suddenly felt almost light headed. The images disappeared and he saw the bag full of clothes again. With a look of bewilderment on his face he looked up and saw Iris looking at him.

Crouching down beside the wheelchair Iris recognized the return of a 'memory'. Trying to comfort him she said, "John, it's ok. There will be moments that your memory will try to come back. You won't be able to control when they happen. It could be a smell, a sight, an image or even certain words that will trigger a memory." John looked at Iris, wanting to believe her. But the vagueness of the memory was frustrating. It reminded him of the fragmented dreams he'd had the last couple of nights. They had to be part of his memory returning.

Leaving Joan was harder than John thought it would be. He'd found comfort in her presence, knowing she was there for him. His memory of her was complete. His trust in her was total. Now leaving her, even for a day was more difficult than he'd imagined. But Joan promised him that she would see him tomorrow. She leaned over and hugged him with tears in her eyes. "I love you John, I'll miss you. Be safe." she whispered in his ear. He hugged her back with his one good arm. Holding her hand as long as he could, he squeezed it tight and kissed the back of it and let go so they could shut the car door.

The drive from the inner city clinic to Zoe's condo was the first time John had been outside of the clinic since he woke up. See NYC from the street level put him a little bit on edge. He hadn't realized how comfortable he'd felt at the clinic. This was the world he couldn't remember. It was fast, it was loud and it was colorful.

Iris and Zoe talked quietly to each other, letting John absorb his surroundings. They were aware of his reactions but were careful not to actively watch him. He had become very sensitive to being 'watched' by anybody.

Arriving at Zoe's building, the doorman met them with the wheelchair that was part of the medical equipment Zoe had waiting upstairs. The nurse she had hired wouldn't be arriving for another 2 hours. That time span would hopefully be enough time to get John comfortable and relaxed in his new, if temporary 'home'.

John looked around at the upper class neighborhood that Zoe lived in. He noted that there was a doorman. Most of the nicer places had doormen for security purposes. This guy looked like he could easily take care of anybody who tried to push their way in.

Zoe and Iris led the way to the elevator. Once inside, Zoe put in her personal code to take them to her floor. Only two people lived on that floor and each had their own code as an added level of security. That extra layer impressed John.

In their conversation about him moving in with Zoe, he'd been told he'd visited here many times. He kept looking around trying to find something familiar but so far, nothing. When the elevator stopped on the 23rd floor, the doors opened to a short hallway with only two doors. There were windows at each end of the hall. Zoe walked over to one of the doors and used a code AND a key to unlock the door.

Iris thanked the doorman and pushed the wheelchair out of the elevator. Crossing the hallway, she pushed the wheelchair into Zoe's home. He looked around for something to jar a memory. The condo was beautifully and elegantly decorated. Expensive but comfortable looking furniture.

Zoe spoke up, "Let me give you the royal tour; make sure you know where things are." She took the handle from Iris and began pushing him through the condo. He was in a large living room with a dining area off to one side. Zoe explained that she'd been living here for about 6 years. She'd decorated it herself and was proud of it's simplicity. Rolling by the kitchen she stopped for a moment to let him look. They had spent many an evening, and morning, in this kitchen cooking together. She glanced down at him but was disappointed at his lack of recognition.

Moving down the hall, she motioned toward her room off to the right but turned into the room on the left. John was slightly surprised to see the hospital bed already set up. Additionally, he was pleased to see the walker. He was very anxious to get out of the wheel chair and start doing some walking. Looking down at his arm in the sling he realized he still needed to have use of both arms to use the walker. A hint of frustration passed through him about the slowness of his physical recovery but he had to remind himself again how badly he'd been hurt.

Sensing a change in his demeanor, Zoe rolled him back out of the bedroom and back into the living room. "Let me show you my favorite place in the world. It is my 'go to place' when the world gets too hectic. You liked it too...I think for the same reason"

Without waiting for a response, she rolled him out onto her balcony. The view of NYC was spectacular.

Iris walked into the kitchen and went about fixing something for them to eat and drink. None of them were ready for an actual meal but something to nibble on would be good. Food had a way of relaxing tension and breaking down barriers you didn't even know existed. She had to smile at the food choices that she found. Zoe seem to have quite a bit of the types of snacks that John liked. Hopefully they might help trigger a memory. Opening the refrigerator she saw a sizable supply of beer. Looking over her shoulder at John and Zoe on the balcony and she nodded. Grabbing three beers she shut the door.

Walking out onto the balcony, Iris set down the tray on the patio table. Three beers and two bowls of snacks. The choices seem to agree with John. With a big smile on his face he grabbed a bottle and tossed it back. "Been awhile since I've had one of these thanks."

The doorman rung Zoe to advise her that the nurse was downstairs. Zoe left John and Iris on the balcony enjoying the ice cold beer and the view. The nurse would be there to help with John for the next couple of days and also to get him started on the physical therapy that Meg said he needed.

Bringing the nurse up to the condo Zoe explained the 'story' that they had all decided on. It would be impossible to hide that John's wounds were from bullets, that he had been shot. They decided to just say he was in security business and was injured while on duty and was now on medical leave. She seemed ok with that and didn't ask for too much more information. Once they were in the condo Zoe gave her the chart that Meg had put together with what had been done, what needed to be done and the meds involved. Then she took her out on the balcony to introduce her to John and Iris.

"John, this is Mrs. Edna Mallard." she said. Looking at the nurse she continued, "She's going to be your nurse during the first couple of nights here and then she's going to get you started on the physical therapy regimen that Meg wants you on."

Zoe missed John's reaction to the nurse's name because she was looking at the nurse. But Iris didn't. John had a smile when she was brought out onto the balcony, but he blinked when he heard her name. He blinked a couple of times and then frowned. Iris knew a memory had floated through his subconscious but he'd lost it. Looking at the nurse and then back at John she tried to figure out what he reacted to: her presence, her looks, her job, her name?

John recovered enough to nod his head and smile. He held out his good hand and greeted her. "Very nice to meet you. I didn't know about the physical therapy. But it sounds like I will soon learn all about it. I promise to be a model patient." He looked up at her and flashed that charming smile of his. Iris almost laughed at the nurse's stunned look. Having been the recipient of that smile herself, she knew it could be devastating if you weren't prepared for it.

Looking down at his legs and then holding up his arm in a sling he said, "I'm going to need lots of work to get back to full speed."

Mrs. Mallard was completely taken in by the man with the soft voice and the two women seemed to be very friendly. This job was going to be quite interesting to say the least.

Iris continued to try and puzzle out exactly what John had reacted to a few second ago. She replayed the introductions in her mind. She didn't think he recognized the nurse herself...it was her name. Then she realized what it was...he reacted to her name. Mallard. But why?

Before Iris could focus fully on John's reaction to the nurse's name, Mrs. Mallard made her presence known.

"I know I've quite literally just started my job here, but I do believe Mr. John is tired. This has been a very tiring day for him from what I've been able to gather." she said without preamble.

Zoe looked surprised and Iris was brought up quickly by the tone in the nurse's voice. Glancing over at John, she realized that she was right. That one beer had allowed John to relax just enough that he was almost asleep sitting up in the wheelchair.

Iris and Zoe both immediately felt guilty that they had not picked up on John's obvious fatigue. Zoe apologized and took Mrs. Mallard back inside to put her things down and show her John's room and the medical equipment she'd had delivered.

Iris took the bottle out of John's hand and placed it on the table. Looking at the shadows under his eyes that she hadn't noticed before, she felt that she'd let him down. So much had gone on today that she hadn't even thought about the physical toll it was taking on him.

"John, I'm so sorry. She's right. You look exhausted. Let's get you to bed while you can still help." John nodded his head in agreement. He suddenly felt too tired to even speak. That one beer had really done a number on him.

Wheeling him back inside, Iris got him to his room. By then Mrs. Mallard was there to help get him out of the chair and into the hospital bed. The paleness in John's face concerned her but Mrs. Mallard seemed to have things well in hand. She shooed Zoe and Iris out of the room and shut the door. By the time she turned around John was out cold. Walking back to the bed she took her time taking his vitals. Everything seem to be in order. Finding the chart on the bedside table she made her notes.

Taking a closer look at the charts, she was impressed with his doctor's meticulous notes. She was in awe that the man in the bed had survived all the trauma he had experienced. Putting down the chart she began checking the bandages. The bullet wounds were healing nicely but she felt the same concern that his doctor had about his right arm and left leg. Those would be the areas to work on with the physical therapy. Since John was resting nicely, she decided to check the supplies. She was pleasantly surprised at the thoroughness and forethought that had been given to the equipment and medications on hand.

She noticed there was even a call button by the bed. Placing it near his hand, she pinned it to the bed so it wouldn't fall off. She felt comfortable leaving him for the moment. Once last look at him and she smiled. He was a nice looking man, even with that beard. No wonder he had two lovely women looking out for him.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she walked back into the living room looking for the signal box that the call button was connected to. Zoe looked up from the couch where she and Iris were talking. Seeing Mrs. Mallard looking around she smiled. She knew what she was looking for. "The receiver is over here on the coffee table. That call button has a reach that covers the whole place. Even out on the balcony."

"Good, glad to hear it." replied Mrs Mallard as she made her way around the couch. "I find fresh air always does the patient a world of good, not to mention reminding them that there is a world out beyond their sick bed that they are usually anxious to return to." She sat down in the comfortable chair next to the couch and held up the chart. "I think you've done an amazing job in getting everything he needs set up here. The medicines have a nice range in potency. Hopefully he won't need the strongest ones." Shaking her head side to side she continued, "He's a very lucky man. Those bullet wounds should have killed him. Any one of those could have been an inch in any direction and would have done him in. And I read there were quite a few broken bones. They seem to be healing well also.

"I think he'll sleep for a while. The level of fatigue I just witnessed is in line with leaving the hospital after a lengthy stay and coming home. Do you have any questions for me or any other information I may need to help him in his recovery?"

Iris and Zoe looked at each other and smiled. John Reese may very well have met his match. Mrs. Mallard had an air about her that felt like she could handle any type of resistance John may have. Things were definitely looking up.

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting to know each other. Discussing the fact that most of John's care now would be physical therapy. If he was to get back any use of his arm and his leg, that work needed to be started now. Mrs. Mallard suggested that there would soon be a need for a treadmill. Once he was able to put weight on that leg he would need to walk as much as possible. She suggested some free weights for him to help strengthen his arm, otherwise he'd never be able to use the walker. Zoe immediately took care of ordering those items for delivery the following week. Since they had the signal box with them, the three women retired to the balcony to talk a little more freely among themselves.


	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Within the next couple of hours an action plan began to take shape, a schedule for the physical therapy and the day to day visits by Iris and Meg and Joan. The fact that there were actually four women concerned about the man in the room made Mrs. Mallard even more curious about the whole situation. But that was not part of her job that she needed to know...at least not right now. At that moment the signal box came to life. John was awake. All three women stood up but Mrs Mallard reminded them exactly why she was hired. Zoe and Iris both laughed and sat back down, this was going to take getting used to.

Tapping on the door as she opened it, Mrs. Mallard walked into the room. John's reaction was as she expected. Wary but alert. "Hello Mr Reese. Do you remember us being introduced earlier? I'm Mrs. Mallard" Once again John reacted, there something familiar...but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And calling him "Mr. Reese" caused a reaction. Joan and Meg called him John. And so did Zoe and Iris. Who called him 'Mr. Reese'? Shaking his head slightly he decided it was just an echo of the memory of being introduced earlier.

An hour later Mrs. Mallard pushed John out to the balcony looking much more relaxed and refreshed. Both Zoe and Iris felt encouraged that they had been correct in their decision to bring John here. That this was the way to get John 'back'...healthy and whole.

The rest of the evening was spent on the balcony enjoying each other's company and enjoying the snacks that Zoe provided. The next couple of days were going to be busy and complicated for everyone as they settled into a new routine. A call was made to Meg to keep her up to date. Joan had been there and was able to share a moment with John. Zoe and Iris watched him visibly relax while talking to Joan.

That night after getting back to her own place, Iris did more in depth research about treating PTSD. She was particularly interested in the therapy that involved desensitizing patients to the trauma, to help in learning to deal with it and handle it. She felt that plan of action would work best for John considering that he might like to continue his job as a cop. Either way, she wanted him to have options. It was one of the few gifts she was able to give him right now. It might be his last too if he stuck to his decision to break things off with her.

John was a man who naturally preferred to face his fears head on. The trauma that had caused his memory to be blocked had obviously been severe. The more she read the more she felt she was on the right track. Thinking back to the reactions John had to certain things seemed to be the key to helping to unlock those memories. She needed a way to expose him to those situations, sights and sounds in a somewhat controlled environment. Her biggest fear was his memories returning all at one time and that he might be alone when they did. There was so much missing in those five years she wasn't really sure he could deal with it all at once. A few ideas came to her as she read. Jotting down some ideas an active plan was taking shape.

Suddenly she stopped reading. Something had been in the back of her mind since meeting the nurse, Mrs Mallard. Trying to figure out why John had reacted to meeting her. She had checked her background and references and found nothing that alarmed her. Like she had been telling John, instead of trying to figure something out, let your subconscious do the hard work. And it had paid off! The reason John had reacted to the introduction of Mrs Mallard was not the woman herself, but her NAME. Her last name was a bird name. John was connecting the name/word 'mallard' to birds. Harold's last name was Finch, another bird! She needed a way to use that connection.

Casting around for a scenario of how to introduce the subject of birds her eyes fell on a book. A book a that Harold had given her. During their talks he'd explained his fascination with birds. At their last visit together he had given her a beautiful illustrated book of Native American Birds. That was it! She knew what her next step would be.

Another important item was to keep John occupied so he wouldn't spend too much time sitting around 'trying' to remember. All that ended up doing was giving him those horrendous headaches and make him need the pain medicine. His frustration over not being able to force the memories to come was compounded by having to take meds that put him to sleep. Iris had spoken to Meg and Mrs. Mallard about John doing his physical therapy twice a day. Occupying his mind with physical activity would hopefully loosen his subconscious, which was where those memories were locked away. While talking to John she had reinforced the idea of 'letting' himself remember instead of 'trying' to remember.

After a few days the routine had been set. Mrs. Mallard ended up only staying overnight twice. Once John was just mobile enough to get himself to the bathroom on his own, there was no need for her to be there. Instead, she came by during the day to help with John's physical therapy. By the end of the week they established two times a day for the physical therapy with lunch and rest in between. There was plenty of grumping and complaining but John was actually eager to work on getting back his strength.

Iris went back to work at the precinct but only for half days. Lionel was glad to have her back. It was difficult to see him every day and not share the news about John. She knew he still missed his partner greatly. Sameen checked in once in awhile. More to touch base than anything else, to have that connection to John and to Harold. She and Grace had become pen pals of a sort. Grace had reached out to her after Harold had explained how she had helped him deal with the loss of John. Harold seemed to be recovering nicely with Grace although Grace had mentioned the sadness in Harold that seemed to always be there. Knowing that she and Zoe had the cure for that sadness only increased the need and desire to bring John all the way back soon.

Despite only working half days, her days were quite full. She left work after lunch to spend time with John. Their talks were light and easy. They talked a little bit about the past that he remembered. But he was still very reserved talking his CIA days which she understood. The stories of his life before the Army seemed off limits too except for an occasional memorable event. It saddened her that he seem to have no memory of telling her some of those stories. Watching for those 'tells' of when a memory danced around the fringes was giving her some serious clues about how to proceed.

Zoe picked back up with her clients. Sometimes she worked during the day and sometimes at night. John was seldom alone. Meg had come by twice in the first week to check on John. Bringing Joan with her made the visit even better for John.

John's progress with the physical therapy had been impressive but daunting. He was getting some of the use back in his arm but not to the degree that he wanted and needed. Same with his leg. He had graduated to using the walker from the bedroom to the living room and from the living room to the balcony. However the treadmill was the best for him because he could concentrate on his leg instead of his arm AND his leg with the walker. His independence was growing day by day. Meg had tried to prepare him that he may very well never get back to 100% of the way he had been. There had been so much damage done to the nerves and muscles. The hardest part was trying to explain to him that he would probably always have a limp and that he would probably need a cane to walk. That news had set him back a day or two while he absorbed how that was going to impact the life he was expecting to return to. But it did serve to give him a goal…..to prove them wrong.

Joan's visits continued to comfort John. The physical therapy was working, he was improving physically, getting stronger. But his frustration was starting to get the best of him. The lack of progress in regaining his memory was becoming a major concern for all of them. Watching him struggle was becoming more and more difficult for Iris and for Zoe. His temper was beginning to show as his level of frustration grew.

The afternoons that Iris spent with John after his physical therapy had its their ups and downs. He seemed to enjoy her company and enjoy talking about some elements of his past that he remembered. But when the talk turned to his work with the NYPD, his inability to remember anything quickly brought him to a breaking point. More than once Iris had to stop the direction of their discussion. He resisted until the headaches began. She explained to him that the headaches were his body taking control of his mind...making him let go of what was causing the pain. There were glimmers of memory but never enough to latch onto. Iris felt there was some progress but not enough to suit John.

One of the John's worst days was during the 2nd week that he'd been at Zoe's. That particular day had started out rough with the physical therapy taking a new direction. Mrs. Mallard pushed him almost as hard as he pushed himself. This time she had been the one to call it a day. The idea that he 'might not' make a 100% recovery was always in the back of his mind and it only served to drive him harder.

Berating himself mentally, he showed no mercy. Sweat was pouring off of him and his arm and his legs felt like jelly. 'I've been injured before. I've been shot before...HELL, I've been shot lots of times before. But this time, why was it taking longer to recover?' He muttered under his breath. Pushing himself away from the therapy table he made his way over to the hospital bed. Waving away Mrs. Mallard he said, "I can take care of myself. I don't need any more help!" He was damn tired of 'taking it easy' and damn tired of 'taking it slow'. Results were what he wanted...what he needed.

Mrs. Mallard recognized that he was angry at himself and not her. She nodded and said she would see him tomorrow morning. Walking to the door she looked back at him and shook her head. He'd come a long way in just 10 days but he was going to have to find his limitations himself.

She passed Iris in the kitchen putting up groceries. She stopped for a moment to tell her what had happened. She recommended Iris let him deal with himself for a bit. His anger was directed at himself but he was lashing out at anybody within range. Iris thanked her for her understanding and advice and walked her to the door.

A short time later Joan showed up with Meg for a check-up and visit. After Mrs. Mallard had left, John had spent so long by himself in the shower and in his room, Iris had become concerned. She'd planned on giving him another 15 minutes and then she'd go check on him but Meg and Joan buzzed from the lobby at the perfect moment. She was extremely happy to see them both. This was new territory with John starting to push back against his 'caregivers' and him allowing his natural frustration over being 'babied' was coming through.

Hearing Iris talking to Meg and Joan, John came out of his room. Everybody was shocked to see him using the walker and not the wheelchair. His movements were slow and measured but he was walking!

Meg watched him navigate his way into the living room, smiling to herself all the way. She was still amazed that he was alive, much less walking under his own power. Joan was almost beside herself in happiness. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she smiled at John. There were still miracles in the world.

Moving the walker on his own with one good arm and one so-so arm was not easy. He caught the front leg of the walker on the corner of an end table as he was making his way into the living room. He'd had eyes only for Joan and was not watching where he was going as closely as he should have been. He almost stumbled when his bad leg couldn't support his whole weight as his walker shift unexpectedly. But by sheer strength of will he held himself upright and found his balance again.

Joan started toward him but Meg held her back with a light touch on her arm. John had to learn to catch himself if he was going to gain any true independence.

Once he'd settled down on the couch, Joan walked over and sat beside him. Holding his hand, all she could do was smile. He'd come so close to death. Patting his leg she looked at Meg. "Meg, you are a true miracle worker!"

"I'll be the judge of that. A lot of it has to do with the man himself." Meg answered. "Let me check you out John and make sure you're doing as well as it seems you are. But we can do that a little later. We came to visit so...let's visit!"

The relaxed atmosphere and companionship soothed John's soul. He wasn't thinking about his limitations. He wasn't comparing how little he could do now to what he had been able to do before. He promised himself he would never take being healthy and in good physical shape for granted, ever again.

Meg regaled them with tales from the weekend. She'd declared it a success because she hadn't lost any patients and only two ended up being transported to a hospital. John commented about some of her 'regulars' and Joan provided the colorful background.

A delicious smell wafted its way from the kitchen. Zoe had waltzed in after meeting a client. After greeting everyone, she changed into casual clothes, at least what past as casual for her, and proceed to cook up a meal that had everyone's mouth watering. She had volunteered to cook dinner if Iris would do the grocery shopping.

Once again the theme for dinner was Italian. Iris had suggested it since John had responded so well to the take-outs they'd dined on at the clinic. He had reacted like there was a memory there, just out of reach. And they were not disappointed this time either. Zoe had cooked a meal that she knew John loved, something he had asked for quite a few times when he'd found out she was such a good cook and they'd spent the rare night at her place rather than meeting out somewhere to eat.

Sitting around the dinner table enjoying a delicious meal like a family, Zoe smiled to herself. She had bought a big dining room table to fit the decor of the room, never dreaming should would A have enough people to fill the table up. Watching John smile and laugh while talking was heartening after all the hardship after the past few months.

Glancing toward Iris, she was surprised at the unguarded look on her face. She was smiling and laughing right along with Joan and Meg. She had only seen Iris under mind numbing despair and sadness and tremendous stress. She was enjoying herself and living in the moment. The 'doctor' was not at the table tonight, the woman was.

As if she felt herself being watched, Iris turned toward Zoe and smiled. There was so much in that smile that Zoe was taken aback. There was a lot riding on John's recovery and his returning memory. Turning back to the conversation at the table, Iris smiled at Joan and returned to watching John. Joan reached out and squeezed Iris's hand and let go. Their connection was getting stronger every day.

After a dessert of Italian ice, everybody retired to balcony to relax and have an after dinner drink. Zoe brought out some wine and beer and everybody got comfortable sitting outside looking over the city. Joan declined the wine, preferring to drink water. Too many memories of her son and even some of her friends from the streets who were lost to its pernicious effects. Even John had battled the bottle part of the time he lived with her.

Iris cleaned up the dinner and loaded the dishwasher, turning it on. Zoe was a neat freak while she cooked so there was little to clean in the kitchen and she was able to quickly rejoin everybody on the balcony. Conversation was at a minimum, each person just enjoying the company.

John downed two beers pretty quickly but Meg stopped him from having a third. "John, that's enough considering all the meds you are on right now. How about I check you out and then Joan and I need to get back." John rolled his eyes but knew she was right. The key was that he was making progress…...just not at the pace he wanted.

* * *

The next couple of days the physical therapy changed. Mornings were for free weights to work his upper body and the treadmill in the afternoons for his legs. Using the free weights to help strengthen his damaged arm and shoulder was pure torture. The weakness caused by the nerve damage was frustrating to John. The improvement was so slow it was almost non-existent. Right now, the muscle fatigue had set in and now every repetition was done with his arm shaking uncontrollably. After dropping the weight the third time he'd had enough.

Mrs. Mallard watched quietly while he dealt with this limitation himself. She'd learned quite a bit about him these last couple of weeks while watching him put himself through excruciating exercises trying to move things along faster. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it did not, like today. He was a man who liked to be his own boss and wasn't all that happy with someone else being in charge. Interesting personality trait that probably worked well in his job in 'personal security', where he'd been injured, she thought.

Once he seemed to pause in his personal, private conversation with himself she made a decision. It wasn't part of the plan that had been worked out for him but she'd been given permission to do what she felt was necessary to keep his progress going.

"Mr. Reese, I think you've done enough work today. What do you say to maybe taking a ride?" she asked.

It took a moment for John to realize that Mrs Mallard had spoken to him. He'd been so wrapped up in berating himself for the physical weakness he was experiencing he'd completely forgotten she was even in the same room with him. He knew he was not doing well if he forgot where he was and who was there. That was something that had been trained into him from the moment he'd entered the military. And honed to a fine edge while with the CIA...always be aware and alert to your surroundings no matter what was going on. You were aware or you were dead.

"A ride? In this damn wheelchair?" He glared at her. Trying to rein in his anger and frustration...he knew none of this was her fault...but she just happened to be in his line of fire.

Smiling back at his scowling face she answered, "No, a ride outside of this apartment. A ride through the streets of NYC. I have my car with me today."

Leaning back in the wheelchair, John used his good arm to wipe the sweat off his face. Looking at her smiling at him, he felt his anger slowly fade to a low rumble in the background, Nodding his head he finally smiled back and said, "I would most definitely like that. But I need to clean up first, don't you think?" plucking his sweat stained shirt off his chest. He gave 100% during each physical therapy session. " Whatever you feel most comfortable with." Mrs. Mallard replied with a laugh.

* * *

Mrs. Mallard got him situated in the shower and let him take care of himself. She'd learned very early on that he was determined to do as much as possible by himself. He'd reached a point in his recovery that he resisted almost any help. She laid out the clothes for him on the hospital bed and left him to his own devices.

While John was taking his shower, Mrs. Mallard made a call to Iris to let her know what the plans were for the afternoon. She was pleased that Iris agreed with her that an 'outing' would definitely be a good thing. Especially after she described his frustration over the speed, or lack thereof, in his physical recovery. Mrs. Mallard calling it "time off for good behavior" making Iris laugh.

John stripped off his sweat soaked clothes. Giving everything he had to every physical therapy session wrung him out. He knew it was going to take time and he knew he was making progress. It was the speed that was driving him crazy. He had been injured before and had recovered faster.

Standing up slowly and holding onto the bathroom counter he looked at himself. Seeing the patchwork of old scars and the new, still healing fresh wounds he was reminded that this was the worst he'd been injured all at one time. Shaking his head he also reminded himself that a building fell down on him. He was damn lucky to be alive.

There were still scars from injuries that he did NOT remember. He could place every single bullet wound and injury from his time in the military and the CIA. But there were quite a few that he had no memory of. They had to be from that 'gray time'. One on his right shoulder, a second in his lower abdomen, his legs had many scars from bullet wounds but there were some on his right leg that he definitely didn't remember. Shaking his head he was again in awe that he could be injured that badly and yet have no memory of how he'd gotten injured!

Once he was back in the wheelchair and dressed, he definitely felt better and was looking forward to the "field trip" with Mrs. Mallard.

* * *

Being in the car with Mrs. Mallard resulted in an unexpected reaction for John. He suddenly felt like he could breathe. Seeing people walking and talking, driving and riding made him realize how removed he was from everyday life. He felt like he'd been holding his breath for a month. NYC was a wonderland of diverse people, sights and sounds that he had been missing. Looking over at Mrs. Mallard, behind the wheel, he smiled. "Thanks for breaking me out."

Having no particular plan or goal in mind, they just drove. John was enjoying himself. The talk was superficial and relaxing. A thought suddenly occurred to John and he looked over at Mrs. Mallard.

"Did you know me before you came to work with me? Had we met before you started my physical therapy?"

Looking slightly puzzled Mrs. Mallard answered, "No, the first time I met you was day you came home from the hospital."

"So we'd never met? You didn't know me before my injury?"

"No. That was the first time we met. Why do you ask?"

John sat quietly for a moment, looking out the windshield at the traffic, digesting that piece of news. Then he smiled.

Looking back over at Mrs. Mallard he said, "Finally! I finally meet somebody who DIDN'T know me before I was...hurt. We have no 'unknown history' of any kind." He smiled even bigger. It was such a relief to meet somebody who didn't know him, someone that was not holding back any memories of him. Someone who was not always 'watching him' for a reaction like Meg, Joan, Zoe and Iris did. He knew they wanted to help him but it was galling to have people know more about him than he did about himself. He had the feeling that he was not being told everything...that may be he might not be able to handle everything yet. Having Mrs. Mallard on the same 'playing field' that him felt wonderful.

Mrs. Mallard looked over at John. Seeing the complete amazement in his gaze she intuitively put together a few clues she had been keeping track of. "You're dealing with some amnesia issues aren't you?"

Reacting immediately to her question, John shut down. Quickly reviewing the story that Zoe and Iris had given Mrs. Mallard about his 'on the job injuries' he realized there had been no mention of the gap in his memories. How had she picked up on that so fast? Had he jeopardized the 'story' that protected all of them?

Turning the different scenarios around in his mind, John could find no concerns that would be raised if he admitted to the amnesia. And it might even help if she knew, just in case he had a 'meltdown' or whatever, if...no... WHEN he got his memory back and she was the only one there at the time.

"Yes. My injury was severe enough I've apparently blocked out how I got hurt and how I came to be in that spot at that moment. I don't seem to remember anything about my security/bodyguard job." He was careful to tell as much of the truth as possible to make it meld with the fiction. He didn't offer any more details and she was wise enough to realize that was all he was going to say on the subject.

When something caught John's eye they'd find a way to drive by it again. John noticed that some things he was seeing seemed to be slightly familiar. That vague ache in his head let him know it was something from his missing past. It was the practice of 'letting himself' remember, as Iris had told him versus 'trying to remember' that was difficult. But she'd been right, more memories were floating around on the edges of his memory and he'd had fewer debilitating headaches.

Mrs. Mallard kept a close eye on him. Watching for the telltale signs of fatigue, both mental and physical. Now that she knew a bit more about John and his injuries she was much more aware of his actions and reactions. She noticed the slight squint to his eyes, usually followed by a frown. Was that a memory floating around on the fringes? Even more noticeable was the rapid blinking he did. That seemed to also be connected to a memory.

"I think we've played hooky long enough. We need to be heading back to Ms. Morgan's place." she said without looking at him. She knew him well enough to not allow herself to show her awareness of his fatigue. She'd learned early on not to point out any weakness to him.

Frowning for a moment, John realized he was very tired just sitting in the car. He was mentally tired because of so many 'almost memories' hovering around the periphery of his mind. Each vague thought led to another thought but nothing concrete he could hold onto. Buildings were familiar. Streets were familiar. But he didn't know WHY they were familiar. His frustration was growing. He needed a moment to collect the scattered thoughts, a moment to clear his mind to see if he could make any connections.

"I've enjoyed today. It's been nice to see something other than those four walls, no matter how pretty they are." he answered with a smile. "Maybe it is time to go back."

Mrs. Mallard decided to take the scenic route back to the condo. Taking the lesser traveled streets there were more small parks to see and glimpses of the river between the blocks. Suddenly John sat up and reached out to touch Mrs. Mallard on the arm. "Drive down by the river, please." He wasn't even sure why he said that, but it felt important.

"Sure. Any particular way you would like me to go?"

"The Queensboro Bridge...from the Queens side, there's a little park..." John said in a whisper, not sure at the moment how he knew this.

Cutting her eyes at John, Mrs. Mallard took note of the intense look on his face. There was something there, something attached to a memory, perhaps?

As they exited the bridge, she could see there was a grassy area just underneath it. One lone bench sat there. It was a little off the beaten path of regular foot traffic so the area was empty. A neglected baseball diamond was off to one side.

Quietly John asked her to stop the car. Sitting there, looking at the bridge and then at the empty bench John felt this was indeed an important spot to him. But he did not yet now WHY it was important. Mrs. Mallard watched him closely. The frown, the squinting of the eyes was back.

"Do you want to get out Mr. Reese?" she asked softly. Never looking at her, his eyes seemed to be searching for something...or someone. "Do you want me to get the wheelchair out for you?"

John nodded, almost afraid to speak, afraid to interrupt the moment. As she got out to get the wheelchair out of the trunk, John continued to look all around him.

Getting into the wheelchair, had been relatively easy. But he wanted to go to the bench. He felt a strong pull toward the bench...to touch it. Maybe just by touching it he would feel something, remember something.

Mrs. Mallard pushed the wheelchair over the grass and parked it by the bench. Putting the brake on it she looked around. It was a great view. The river was relatively quiet here. Not a lot of boat traffic. The car traffic on the actual bridge was muffled, even though it was almost directly overhead. Looking back at John she asked, "Are you all right here or do you want to sit on the bench?"

John glanced over at the bench and then back at her. "I think I'd like to sit on the bench for awhile, alone." She simply nodded and helped him over to the bench and got him seated. "I'll be in the car if you need me." Never taking his eyes off the river, he nodded.

The view was familiar. He felt he'd been here more than one time. The 'view' had layers, different times of the year…..different people? He closed his eyes to see if one view stood out more than the others. There were two very strong memories associated with one person. It was a man. One memory was...Fall maybe? Light coat, chilly. The other memory, much colder, heavier coats? Strange things to remember. But when he tried to see the face of the man in the memory he got that same fuzzy image that had haunted his dreams awhile back.

Opening his eyes he looked around. The view was so familiar. He tried harder to focus on the face of the man 'next to him' on the bench. Nothing. Except the beginning of one of the headaches. He clenched his jaw in frustration. He was SO close. This was important. Who was that man? Was it that man, Harold, that Zoe and Iris has mentioned? Or Lionel Fusco? Again, neither name rang a bell. Why was this bench, this park, this view so important to him?

He found himself gripping the bench with his one good hand, leaning forward with his eyes closed. Trying to remember, trying to move past the pain in his head.

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. It startled him. Opening his eyes he was almost gasping for breath. He heard a woman's voice "Mr Reese? Are you alright?"

Suddenly everything went quiet. The pain receded for a moment. A moment of clarity …..a man's voice, in his ear asking, "Mr. Reese? Mr. Reese are you alright?"

And then it was gone. Blinking rapidly, John looked up to see Mrs. Mallard standing over him.

"I'm fine." he whispered, wondering where that memory came from….and where it went.

 **EDITORS NOTE: Stay tuned dear readers, the moment you've all been waiting for is coming up in the next chapter...John will finally get his memory back!**


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

Boredom was fast becoming an issue for John. He was bored watching TV, had never been a fan. He was actually tired of reading, nothing seem to hold his interest. Looking around Zoe's apartment, he was at a loss when he tried to find something new to do. Walking slowly around the apartment on crutches for 'exercise', even one as big as Zoe's, was not enough to offset the anxious, edgy feelings he was experiencing. He was getting antsy and irritable and that was unfair to Zoe and Iris. Sadly, his 'field trip' with Mrs. Mallard had been the highlight of the last couple of weeks. The fact that he'd almost uncovered a memory but had ultimately lost it, was driving him crazy.

Spotting a book on the coffee table that was new, he hobbled over and picked it up. The Wonderful World of Birds. That was an odd sounding book for Zoe to have. But the oddness of its appearance piqued his interest. Putting it under his arm, he made his way over to the dining room table and sat down.

Opening the book, he noticed it was signed. So it was gift from someone. "To Iris, with great appreciation ~ Harold". So it was not Zoe's book, it belonged to Iris! Under that signature was a message "Thank you for your time and patience in helping all of us to heal. You all have become like a family to me." Frowning, he looked back up at the signature. Harold. That was the name that Iris and Zoe had mentioned to him. Mentioned many times, in fact. Telling him that Harold was important to him, important to his life. But the name still brought no memories of it nor the man it belonged to.

Thumbing through the book, he came across pictures of different types of birds. A particular bird caught his eye. An egret. He felt a minor headache twinge while looking at it. The more he read, the more his head started to ache. He knew now that was a sign that he was close to something important...something that he _wanted_ to remember, that he felt he _needed_ to remember. Flipping further through the book, he came across pictures of finches. The headache pulsed even stronger but he wanted to push on. The answers were near, he knew it! Getting up and hobbling into the kitchen, he looked for something to drink. Something strong. Something to take the edge off the pain so that he could continue to chase the memories. A beer? No... liquor? Yes. Turning around, he went back into the living room and spotted a bottle of liquor at the wet bar off the side of the dining room. Making his way over to it, he picked up a bottle. Realizing that it was very expensive whiskey he started to put the bottle down. But then he remembered Zoe telling him to make himself at home so he went ahead and poured himself a glass.

Frowning, he looked down at the glass. How was he going to get back to his chair holding the glass and walking with crutches? Finally he decided to leave one crutch by the bar to free up his hand to carry the glass as he made his way slowly back to the table. Sitting down, he took a sip of the whiskey. The moment the liquor touched his tongue he felt like he was sliding through a long tunnel with voices and pictures flowing past him at an alarming rate. Thankful he was sitting down, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. But that only made it worse. The pictures flashing by him had more detail in the dark.

Putting the glass down on the table, he held the sides of his head. He hadn't had a headache like this since he left Meg's clinic. The pain was severe but he felt like he was so close. Tears came to in his eyes from the pain but he endured it.

Suddenly he gasped. His breathing is loud and labored. Finch...Harold Finch...the name...he finally 'felt something' just thinking of the name. Zoe had mentioned the whole name when telling him about the 'gray time' but it had just been the name of a stranger. Iris had mentioned the name too. He knew it was a name from his past. But now...now there was emotion attached to that name, there was substance...but it was still just out of reach. He was so close! He felt that if he could push through the pain that he would know...that he could remember.

He once more looked at the page about finches. Was that what triggered this headache? This sudden attachment of an emotion to a memory? Placing the book in front of him, he put his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. He felt like he needed to hold his head 'together' because the pain felt like it was going to make his head explode.

Closing his eyes, he worked to control his breathing, to relax his shoulders as well as his mind. Iris had told him to quit TRYING to remember and to just LET himself remember. So that's what he would try to do. Looking back down at the book, he opened his mind and let his thoughts flow by themselves.

Repeating to himself, he said "Harold, Harold Finch, Finch" over and over. Again his headache pain ratcheted up another level. He broke into a full sweat. Looking back at the book, he turned a few more pages, and paused as a picture of a crane caught him off guard for a moment, then kept going. Next he recognized a wren. Suddenly it was there! He could almost 'see'...Harold. Harold! Short man, glasses, spiky brown hair...walked with a limp. Harold! Harold had gotten him out of he'd beat up some punks on the subway who were looking for a fight. Harold...suddenly he remembered the river, meeting Harold by the river. THAT was why that bench by the river had been so important! Finch was the man whose face he couldn't see! Finch had known who Reese was even though, to the best of his knowledge, they'd never met. He'd known his name. Suddenly that moment appeared in his mind, crystal clear. The entire conversation...Harold had saved him! He'd saved John ...from himself at a time when Reese had been hell bent on doing away with himself. He remembered feeling that he'd failed in his duty to protect Jessica. He'd left her to keep her safe, only to have that man, what was his name? Peter! Only to come back and find out that Peter had killed her. There had been no longer a reason to exist. His entire world had gone... But Harold...Harold? Harold...had brought him back from the edge. Harold had given him a reason to go on living...given him a job? a purpose? Slowly shaking his head the memories flowed. How could he have forgotten someone who had done so much for him? Someone who had meant so much TO him. They had worked together. They were partners, working together to do good...to help people. He could 'hear' Harold's voice in his mind, always there for him, guiding him, helping him. The memories were flowing quickly but seem to be out of sequence...some were good, some were bad. Working together...helping people... saving people, sometimes not saving people...

That last thought brought another sharp twinge of headache pain. Another memory slipped through of someone else. Someone he'd been close to... a woman….Joss? Joss Carter. Her face filled the space directly in front of him. She was there, he could 'hear' her voice. He remembered her. Beautiful woman, warm smile, kind eyes that could turn cold in a millisecond if she found out you were lying to her. Smiling to himself over being able to pull back that memory, he leaned back in the chair.

Suddenly he remembered that Joss was gone, dead. Killed? "Oh God, no!" he cried out and began sobbing. He'd just 'found' her again only to realize she was 'gone'. Deep pain and sadness threatened to overwhelm him. Joss had been so good, such a good friend, a wonderful mother, a great cop. He was drowning in the pain of memory. Burying his face in his hands he gave way to the 'new' pain of losing her. She had understood him. Their military service gave them an understanding that no one outside the military could understand. He remembered teasing her about her relationship with …Beecher? He had always felt very protective of her. But she had been shot and killed in front of him. She'd been killed trying to protect him and then died in his arms. The pain of that memory was as fresh as if it were happening now. He'd lost so much when he'd lost her. He hadn't been able to protect her just like he hadn't protected Jessica. Why was he never good enough, fast enough, strong enough to take care of the people he loved and cared for? Why was he always letting down the women in his life? How could he have forgotten someone as important as she was? Like Harold was?

Looking down at the table he spotted the glass of whiskey. Picking it up, he took another sip. Again the taste of the whiskey seemed to be the catalyst to unlock more memories. But this time he knew what to expect and was prepared.

He started to have clearer memories of working with Harold...in the library! Some good memories, some not so good. It had been their sanctuary. Suddenly a quick flash of a memory of a baby. A baby? and a dog. A dog? Suddenly he felt overrun with _too much_ memory. Too many images of people, places, fights, gun battles...injuries. Images overlapped so much that he couldn't get a grasp of all that he was 'seeing'. He could barely recognize one 'scene' before it morphed into another, sometimes a totally unrelated, scene. He was fast becoming frustrated over too much memory coming too fast. He couldn't absorb everything, couldn't make sense of any of it. Grabbing the glass he tossed back the whiskey in one big swallow. It burned as it went down but it helped.

He noticed that his headache was almost gone. It was now just a dull throb in the background. Since part of his memory was returning he hoped he'd seen the last of those headaches. They made him unable to function. He needed drugs to handle the pain but he didn't like not being totally in control, not having the rigid control of his mind or body. Never had. Control was...everything.

Forcing himself to slow his thoughts down, he stood up and used the crutch to go get the bottle of whiskey and bring it back to the table. He didn't have any plans to get drunk but he needed the 'shock' of the whiskey, kind of like 'smelling salts'...to bring him BACK to the present after drop kicking him into his past. Either way, he felt the need for the catalyst.

Pouring himself another glass of whiskey, John tossed it back with one swallow. Feeling it burn its way down his throat, he closed his eyes and opened himself up and let the memories flow. No need to seek the answers now, they were coming at him at lightening speed.

Faces of people he'd barely known, but who he and Finch had helped, danced in front of him. Faces never to be seen again. Intermixed with faces that appeared over and over but in different setting. No names...yet. Just sensations.

Feelings trampling over each other...worry, concern, anger, frustration, puzzlement...interspersed with a few happy moments, teasing moments...but the subject or focus of these feelings was never manifest.

Using his left hand he rubbed the bridge of his nose. His thoughts were directionless with no goal in mind other than to keep the memories kept coming.

Remembering Harold being concerned about him when he'd been shot or incommunicado when they were working...what? What was it that they actually did? Iris had tried to explain that they helped people who couldn't help themselves; that they could do things that the police couldn't. It sounded like something he would be willing to do but he wasn't sure exactly where Harold came into the picture. Then he remembered...Harold told him who to go save or protect. But how did Harold know? John's thoughts were all over the place. He had no control over what memory came back...or when or even who.

Suddenly Fusco's face popped into his mind.. Loyal, steadfast Lionel. John remembered the first time they'd met when Fusco was taking him to Oyster Bay. How, at first, Lionel was an asset that he exploited regularly. But on the heels of that memory was John finally admitting to himself, that Lionel was a friend, a good friend in fact. Then another memory of when Fusco had turned on him and delivered him to the Mexican cartel. Followed by a memory of Fusco rescuing him in a…..gym? They worked together. Initially, unofficial, but later...yes, they were partners in the NYPD. The memories were tripping over each and he had trouble remembering their sequence. The pain was still there but each memory seemed to release some of the pain.

Pouring the whiskey into the glass, he was intrigued. Holding the glass up he wondered why the taste of the whiskey seemed to bring out the memories that had been hidden? He had obviously had this particular whiskey in the past. There was a 'deja vu' feeling when he tasted it. Taking a sip, he opened himself up to whatever memories were attached to it. Sitting on a porch, high above NYC late at night, enjoying a nightcap with...Zoe! Warm memories flowed through him. He smiled as their times together danced through his mind. Looking out the glass doors to the porch, he knew he'd been there many an evening with Zoe. And morning, as well...

He remembered Zoe working with Joss and someone else to help a number. It had been his idea to use them as 'bait' and they had jumped at the chance to have some 'fun'. But who was the third female? He had a strong feeling that the other person was important. Important to him _and_ Harold. He felt a twinge of the headache coming back. He was trying too hard. Reminding himself to quit trying and just let the memories flow, he sat back in the chair and took another sip.

His mind felt sluggish after the torrent of memories he'd regained over the last hour or so. More of the people that he and Harold had helped flashed through his mind. Each had their own story. Most had good endings but some did not. Wait, that third female had been a number, someone he was suppose to help; he was sure of it. Someone who was, or had been, in his line of work, had once worked for the government. It wasn't Stanton...he remembered her all too well. But it was someone who could take care of herself...but had lost her partner. Details were coming back to him but slowly. She had shot him. She shot .him! Shot him in his chest where the vest had caught the bullet. That much he remembered.

Once again he brought both hands up to head. There was pain but wasn't as sharp. It was almost like...tired pain. His mind felt like it was buried under memories. He'd been seeking his memories every way possible for the last couple of weeks but now he wanted to turn them off. Turn them off for just a little while. Some memories came and went so fast there were no details….just the sensation of what happened.

His right shoulder was beginning to ache.. The bullet he'd taken in that shoulder had done some serious damage. He realized he'd either been gripping the armrest of the chair he was in or he had been holding both hands to his head. He needed to relax and get up. Sitting at the table was no longer comfortable. He looked around and considered moving to the couch but his eyes caught the sunshine on the edge of the balcony. That's where he wanted to be….outside. He found it was a lot like the enclosed patio at the clinic except this one happened to be 23 stories in the air.

Grabbing the whiskey bottle and his glass with one hand, he carefully stood up. Once he found his balance, he reached for his crutch and slowly made his way out to the balcony. Settling down in one of the chairs he leaned the crutch against the side of the table. He placed the glass on the table and carefully poured himself three fingers of whiskey. Looking out over the city seemed to help untangle his chaotic thoughts. Sipping the whiskey helped bring things into focus.

* * *

John's thoughts returned to that third female just out of reach in his memory. He felt a kind of kinship with her. Like they'd had a similar background. She had been someone that he and Harold had once helped. He paused for a moment and enjoyed the feeling of knowing who Harold was. A whole other 'life' had opened up in his memory. There were still gaps to be filled in but the memory of Harold and their friendship felt like the most important part of his life for the past several years.

He remembered that Zoe had been someone they had helped too and then she had ended up occasionally helping them to help others...as well as becoming someone very special to him. Any memory of Zoe made him smile...apparently all of their history had been good. Smiling to himself he relived a couple of those moments in his mind.

Dragging himself back to the present, he continued letting his mind drift in any direction it wanted to and see what turned up.

So why was this third female so difficult to remember? She had lost someone important to her...a friend….a family member...or partner? What kind of partner? The fuzzy memory he had of her was that she was someone very independent and very capable of taking care of herself, not really needing a partner. He remembered her as someone who liked to go it alone, who tended to be bossy and used to getting what she wanted. Like who was going to drive the fast car. Suddenly she was there in his memory. Behind the wheel of a fancy sports car...a getaway car? She'd been insistent on driving. Damn it Shaw! Boom there it was! The name...Shaw...Sameen Shaw. A huge grin suddenly appeared on his face. Now he remembered! Shaw was like him...a former government agent. But while he was CIA and she was...ISA? He began to remember all of their 'missions' together. They'd always been trying to 'one-up' each other. He let out a laugh…'bratty little sister' came to mind. They were equally matched in ability but he'd still felt very protective of her. Memories of Sameen were good with a couple of WTH! moments sprinkled throughout.

Fast on the heels of remembering Shaw came an unexpected memory. Shaw had lost recently lost someone she cared about. Not her partner in the ISA. Someone more recently...a woman? A tall woman, with long dark hair.

Without an warning he was back in another memory filled with anger and worry. Where was Harold? Why did he not know where Harold was? Then he remembered someone had kidnapped him. Root! The name sprang into his mind without his even trying. He felt the anger build up quickly within. He was leaning forward in the chair and he had to fight the urge to jump up and run. Run where? To do what?

Looking back up he realized he was on a balcony overlooking NYC. Then he remembered where he was...Zoe's condo. Regaining his composure, he tried to figure out what had just happened.

He remembered the name Root and the sudden strong reaction he had to remembering the name, to remembering her. She'd kidnapped Harold. She had injured Harold! She threatened to kill Harold for... something. Shaking his head, he couldn't remember those particular details. What he could remember was his rage at her for taking Harold away from him. He owed everything to Harold. Harold was his best and probably only, friend. The more memory that returned, the deeper his feelings for Harold became and the appreciation for what he had done for him.

On top of that memory came one of Shaw and Root together. There was something there between them. He remembered watching them...especially Shaw, who was oblivious to what was happening between them. Sameen had always been alert and aware of everything and everybody...but she had taken forever to understand her relationship with Root. Suddenly he realized that his feelings for Root were not the same as they had been. Instead of anger he felt...what? He couldn't put a name to it...but the way he thought of Root had completely changed. It was the loss of Root that changed Sameen. How had she lost Root? How had _they_ lost Root?

The memories coming back were still out of sequence. New followed by old interspersed with older ones. But he pushed on. This was what he'd been striving for since he realized he had a huge gap in his memory. And he knew there were still memories missing.

* * *

He was getting closer to that moment. He could feel it. The moment that caused his horrific injuries. That moment when his mind had gone blank. His breathing had become labored, his heart rate increased at an alarming rate. Clenching his eyes closed he pushed himself to remember; pushed himself to face whatever had caused him to take refuge in his mind.

Sweat poured freely down his face now. Shaking his head side to side slowly, he was almost begging himself to let go and remember. A roaring began in his ears. Louder and louder. He couldn't breathe. He felt his gun in hand, then felt it slip from his hand. His gun…..his gun….he had to have his gun! He watched it skitter away as the ground beneath him began to shake. The noise was deafening. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Looking around he realized he was alone….alone where? Sky was above him. He was on a roof? But why?

He saw it. An open briefcase. Beyond that there was a radar cone? A feeling of panic overtook him. Did it work? Did he do it right? He hate to die never knowing if it worked. If what worked? Why was he on the roof? What had he done? Why was it important that it worked?

Suddenly he sat straight up, knocking his glass of whiskey over on the table. A loud gasp escaped from him. Eyes wide open he saw…..he saw…..he saw Harold! Harold on another rooftop. Harold looking at him.

All the memories came rushing back to that one, pinpoint, moment in time and place. Harold. Harold was safe. Harold was alive. He heard himself saying 'Goodbye, Harold'. All the love and friendship they had shared for each other over the last five years, came flooding back all at once. Harold, who meant everything to him; Harold, the man he owed his life and his sanity to…..was safe. He'd watched him limp to safety through the door on the other roof. He'd done the job Harold had hired him to do… save people. And he had saved the most important person in the world.

Five years. All of his memories of the last five years had come back to him, intact. Every number they had gotten, the good and the bad.

Reaching to the tipped over glass, he poured himself another glass of whiskey had forced himself to take a break. He was physically exhausted. It felt like he had been in a fight for his life and that was probably closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. The flow of memories brought his whole body into a flight or fight mode. Muscles tensed, nervous energy looking for an outlet. He had to force himself to come back to the present. The physical act of sipping whiskey helped bring him back to the 'now'. Sitting on the balcony, he once more enjoyed the view. How much time had passed since he'd picked up that damn book that had started this avalanche of memories? Looking back into the condo through the glass doors he could see the book still sitting on the dining room table. So much had happened since he'd sat down to look through that book.

That book. It wasn't Zoe's book. It was...it belonged to Iris. She had brought that book here for that reason, to prompt his memory, to pry open the door of his locked away memories. All of the memories that he'd shut out completely. And THAT thought brought home a memory he was not expecting: Iris.

The memories of her flowed in a cascade of wonder. All seemed to bring with them a feeling of warmth, a feeling of openness and freedom he'd never thought he would feel. A feeling of wonder that he could experience anything remotely close to a normal life. His life had been so abnormal for so long, he had not even been sure he could _have_ a normal life. But Iris had shown him that it was possible..

Doubts about even attempting to have a normal life were rooted in his days at the CIA. They'd instilled in him the idea that he had no family and no friends. Stanton had told him he wasn't even part of the human race anymore because of the things they had done and would do in the future. Stanton had tried to own him...but she had never gotten his soul. The part of him that WAS still human had be safely locked away all these years. Up until that one night he almost died of his gunshot wounds in that cold, dark car. That memory came back to him sharp and clear. Carter. Joss Carter. He remembered almost dying but he also remembered her ghost had comforted him. Kept him alive. And in doing so, she had given him permission to live, to reach out to the people who loved him, to have a normal life before it was too late. Her ghost had given him permission to love again.

Iris had been that person. She had helped him find himself again; had helped him to accept his past. And also how to deal with the life he'd led previously. How to handle the life he could have now. He remembered talking to her. Telling her some things about his family that he had not shared with anyone. Not even Jessica. There were still parts of his past he was not ready to face, that he had not been able to tell her…...yet. But she had made him laugh, mainly at himself and helped him realize he was human.

Memories began to once again jump over each other in his mind. He remembered protecting her in a shootout while he was protecting a number. Shaking his head, he smiled to himself. Zoe had been the first one to realize he had feelings for Iris, even before he himself knew the extent of them. Sometimes when it came to interacting with others he knew he could be quite dense.

Then he remembered the pain when she had told him she was referring him to another doctor. He remembered the anger and the hurt at the thought that she was turning him away; remembered wondering what he had told her that made her afraid of him? He remembered turning that anger into stoney indifference, giving her the cold shoulder whenever their paths crossed in the precinct. Most of all he remembered the look on her face when he'd turned his back on her. Those memories made him ashamed. He'd retreated back to his cold and distant demeanor when dealing with people. All that he had gained with her help was lost. Or almost completely lost.

Another memory jumped in on top of that one. Smiling to himself he remembered that fateful afternoon she demanded he follow her to her office. She'd tried to explain her decision about releasing him to another doctor. Her explanation left him cold. But he remembered the look on her face when he asked "Then you're not afraid of me?" That question had taken every bit of courage he had to even ask it, to even put it into words and therefore give it power over him.

Her reaction to that question was etched in his memory forever. She had told him that nothing he could say or had said would ever make her afraid of him. That she was afraid of what she felt for him. She just said 'to hell with it'; and kissed him. He'd understood what it had cost her to explain that and the ultimate price she paid with that kiss. But what it had done for him, for them, had been life changing. The memory of her response to his kiss was everything.

The moments and places they had shared together after that fateful afternoon rolled out before him in his mind's eye. The normal life he had dreamed of had been almost within his reach. But too many times his 'job' interfered. Either leaving her to work a number or having to be late because he was finishing up a work on a number before meeting her. He laughed to himself as he remembered meeting her parents the first time. It had been awkward at the beginning but they seemed to like him by the end of dinner.

Then came the memory of their walk in the park. His chest ached with the thought of what he'd done to her that day. He felt sure that when he'd called her to meet him that she had no idea what was about to happen. She had become such a big part of his life. He'd told her a little bit about his 'job' but had kept a lot of it secret. What he did remember of that day was painful….for him and for her. He knew that he was holding on too tight to her and their life together. Would he hesitate doing what needed to be done because of her? Because he couldn't bring himself to take that final step that might ultimately take him away from her? He did know that the what he was doing was going to have global ramifications. He needed to be fully focused on his job. He didn't want her to be hurt if something did happen to him if she even would find out he was gone.

Thinking about it now, in the cold light of day, he realized that was the same logic he'd used when he let Jessica go. He'd felt he had to give up who he loved for an ideal he felt compelled to uphold thanks to his childhood experiences. But he was not going to make the same mistake twice. He had put his job before her and had waited too long to return to Jessica and she had died as a result of his rigid sense of duty. Iris wasn't in any immediate danger at the moment but he knew his decision had hurt her badly. Would she want him back? Would she even accept him back after what he'd done? Was all the work and help she'd been giving to help him regain his memories, was it all just another part of her job? Had he pushed her too far away to ever get her back?


	27. Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Iris let herself in the door and made her way to the kitchen. The routine she and Zoe had put together was working perfectly. She left work early and did the grocery shopping on the nights that Zoe was planning on cooking. For someone who looked and acted so sophisticated, Zoe was a wiz in the kitchen. Fancy Italian cuisine or plain meatloaf...it was all good.

As she passed into the kitchen she noticed John sitting out on the balcony. He seemed to enjoy the view a lot. Even more so after his 'field trip' as he called it with Mrs. Mallard. She knew he was tired of being cooped up. He seemed to prefer the outdoors and Zoe's condo provided a breathtaking view, day or night.

She continued into the kitchen to put up the groceries. Tonight was going to be good ole meat and potatoes. Zoe could make the simplest food turn out to be a fancy feast. Iris smiled as she put things away. She was enjoying getting to know Zoe...so many different sides that she didn't show just anybody. No wonder John had found her fascinating.

Suddenly she heard the sound of glass breaking. She called out "John?" but heard no answer. She walked to the kitchen door and looked toward John outside. He had his head down and his hands covering his eyes. She quickly made her way to the door to balcony and called his name again. He still did not respond...but he did raise his head.

She came out onto the balcony and stopped behind him. She couldn't see his face. She did see the glass lying on its side on top of the glass patio table. A drop or two of the whiskey was all that remained in the glass That was what she'd heard...He had knocked over the glass.

"John? John, are you alright?" she asked softly.

John closed his eyes and allowed her voice to wash over him. That was the voice he'd been listening for from the moment his memories had started flowing. A slight smile played across his face. After the last couple of hours of mental and emotional chaos...that voice felt like a calm breeze

Reaching up with his left hand, he patted his left shoulder. Without a thought Iris slipped her hand in his. He turned his head a gave a light kiss to the back of her hand. A gasp from Iris told him all he needed to know.

He gently pulled her around in front of him. For the first time, since he'd been hurt, he really looked at her. He saw someone that he knew, a face that he remembered. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but he preferred it down. She had on a pale green plaid shirt and jeans. He had always liked the way she dressed at home, relaxed…..casual. She looked nothing like the Doctor and everything like Iris. Looking up at her, he could see tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

Letting go of her hand, he slowly stood up. Using his left hand he carefully wiped the tears away and smiled at her. Cupping her cheek he leaned down and kissed her, just a light brushing of lips.

"Do you remember the last thing you said to me that day in the park?" he asked quietly.

Frowning slightly she shook her head.

"You had tried to convince me that I could have a normal life. And I reject that idea...and I rejected you." He paused for a moment as the memory played out in his mind, in all its painful clarity. "You said 'just not today and not with me'"

He saw the pain return to her eyes as she remembered. She nodded.

"Well today is the day. And I want it to be with you." He whispered as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time with more than just a light touch of their lips. Iris's arms slipped around him and returned the kiss she had been holding onto since that very day in the park.

The front door opened and Zoe walked in. She almost called out to John to let him know she was home when she spotted John and Iris on the balcony. She stopped her mid stride. John and Iris were wrapped up in each other in a kiss. She felt like a voyeur, but she couldn't look away.

"Well I'll be damned. Guess his memory has returned." She said under her breath. Smiling to herself, she thought, "Looks like they picked up right where they left off." Zoe looked on with a smile watching as Iris helped John create a NEW memory to add to those that had obviously returned.

* * *

Zoe waited as long as she could, trying to give them some time alone. Being able to have John look at her and KNOW who she was finally became too much to hold back any longer. Dropping her bags on the couch, she walked to the door leading to the balcony.

"Looks like I missed the big event today!" She spoke, referring to John's memories returning.

She had to laugh at the startled reaction by John and Iris. They had jumped apart like guilty school kids but then Iris had to grab John to help him keep his balance. The smile on both their faces was worth everything.

"John." said Zoe with one eyebrow raised.

"Zoe." he responded quietly. Iris stepped away, giving him some room, knowing what was coming. A huge smile creased his face and he held out his arm to envelope her in a one armed bear hug. She hugged him back tightly.

Pulling away she looked up at him. From the expression on his face she knew he was back. He knew her. She turned to Iris with tears in her eyes.

"He's back, he's really back. All of him is back!" she said with a catch in her voice. Zoe was not one to normally show that much emotion but this moment had been too long in coming and too hard fighting for to not fully give into the moment, emotions and all.

"Yes, Zoe. He is back." Looking up at him she smiled.

Zoe reached for Iris and pulled her into a three way group hug. No words were necessary, happiness was everywhere.

A few hours later Zoe was in the kitchen fixing dinner and John and Iris sat at the bar between the living room and the kitchen. Their conversation was almost frantic in the way the subjects jumped around from person to person and place to place. They found themselves talking over each other and laughing at each other. Sharing memories that John could now join into and enjoy.

There were moments of sadness too. Eventually John's memory came around to people that he remembered but that he wasn't completely sure he remembered everything about them. He remembered Anthony, Elias's righthand man. Anthony had died, he had sacrificed himself to save Elias. But fast on that memory was Elias's death. Now that his full memory was restored, John allowed himself to grieve for someone he had come to respect. He fell silent as the memories again flooded through. Only now he had a handle on which memories belonged 'where.' He remembered enough to realize that Zoe and Iris did not know Anthony or Elias.

As more stories were exchanged between the three of them, the more John's memories fell into place and more in the actual sequence of the events. And this time there was no resulting headache. Not even a twinge. For the first time he felt like he might actually recover all of his memories, even after all that had happened to him. Which reminded him of Meg and Joan.

"I need to see Meg and thank her. I know now just how badly I was hurt. I really should have died. She is amazing."

"Well, you'll get a chance to do that sooner than you think. Joan and Meg are coming here for dinner tonight." said Zoe.

Iris watched John carefully. This had been an emotional rollercoaster day for him. How had he describe it to her before Zoe got home? Squeezing FIVE years of memories and experiences all into one afternoon had made his brain feel like mush. That was a lot for anyone to absorb! Was he going to be able to handle even more? She knew she wouldn't be able to stop him but she felt the need to keep a close eye on him. He could easily crash and burn with too much overload.

Half an hour later, as Zoe was finished cooking dinner, the security intercom came to life and Meg's voice could be heard. "Zoe, we're here for dinner." Zoe pushed the button to tell them to come on up. She couldn't wait to see their faces when they saw John. She knew they would be able to tell the difference the very moment they saw him.

A knock on the door signaled that Meg and Joan had made it upstairs. Iris went to the door to let them in. Giving Meg a quick hug, Iris turned toward Joan and smiled. She gave Joan an extra strong hug. As she pulled back she saw Joan frowning slightly at her. That was a bigger welcome than she was used to getting. Something was up. Looking around until she found John; she knew immediately that was HER John standing by the table.

Meg called out her hello to Zoe and finished taking off her coat. Hanging it on the back of the chair, she put her keys and phone into her purse. Turning toward John she smiled.

"Hello, Meg." said John, smiling back at her.

"Hello John, how are you feeling this...John!" Meg knew immediately by the way he spoke and the way he looked at her that he KNEW her. His memory was back! She ran to him and threw her arms around him. Immediately she had to help him keep his balance. Everybody tended to forget that! This was indeed a happy day!

Standing just inside the door, Joan watched Meg and John. She had been the only one he remembered these past couple of weeks. Holding those memories close to her heart she was very happy for John that he seemed to be completely recovered. Walking over to John she placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. Looking up into his eyes she saw the man she remembered. This was the John she knew had been there all along. He placed his hand over hers and smiled down at her. Letting go he pulled her close in a bear hug. He may have used those long arms to hold people off but now he was using them to hold people close to him.

Meg was laughing and crying. Suddenly Iris and Zoe were hugging each other and laughing and crying too. Then Joan joined in. John looked at these four amazing women who had done so much for him, had never lost faith in him. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this kind of love but he promised himself that he'd make himself worthy.

Dinner that night was celebration of life for all of them. Proof that love truly conquered all...even certain death from bullets and a falling building. And an acknowledgement that life without memories was no life at all.

John Reese felt he had it all once again. Almost all, that is. He was very conscious of the fact that there were others out there who were still mourning his loss.

* * *

Fusco and Shaw were sitting on the bench next to the river, deep in conversation about the current number The Machine had given them. Shaw had brought Bear with her as was her habit now. He seemed to have become her touchstone to those she had lost. They had been asked to meet up with Zoe and Iris. But they had not been given a reason. Shaw wondered why they asked to meet in this specific park under the Queensboro Bridge. To the best of her knowledge, neither Zoe nor Iris would know the significance of the place.

This particular location brought back some deep memories for her and for Lionel. This was the only time all of them: John, Harold, Root, Lionel and she had all been together. John had told her once why this spot was special to him. It had been a jolt to drive up and see that view of the river. Bear had been excited about getting out of the car so that hadn't left her much time to get wrapped up in memories she'd rather stay away from. She still had moments of deep loss thinking about Root and about John, but she compartmentalized them and locked them away.

Next to her, Bear's ears perked up and he sat up. He started whining. Shaw and Fusco stop talking and wondered what was up with Bear. Being well trained, Bear didn't move from his spot by the bench but his tail was wagging madly. Thinking that it must be Zoe arriving, Shaw tried to calm Bear down. Nothing worked and Bear became even MORE agitated.

Turning around, Shaw suddenly felt time stop. There was no sound of traffic above them on the bridge, no sounds of boat traffic in the distance. Just complete silence. All she could hear was her heart beating wildly. She was looking at a ghost. The ghost of a dead man…...

Walking toward her was Zoe and Iris and between them was Reese. A thinner, slightly grayer Reese, walking slowly with a cane, but it was undoubtedly Reese!

Standing up she whispered "John...John?" Bear got up and started pulling on the leash, pulling her toward Reese.

Fusco turned when he heard Shaw say 'John'. He stood up, mouth agape.

Shaw dropped Bear's leash and he took off toward Reese. Charging toward Reese, Bear was a blur of speed. Nonetheless, he stopped on a dime in front of Reese, body quivering with excitement over finding his favorite person after so long. Quietly Reese told him to sit in Dutch and Bear obeyed instantly. Reese leaned on his cane and scratched Bear behind his ears.

Shaw slowly walked around the bench toward Reese, Zoe, and Iris. Shaking her head from side to side, she was having a hard time comprehending what her eyes were telling her.

Stopping in front of Reese, Shaw looked up into the face that was permanently etched in her mind. The deep set, blue gray eyes with the wicked glint and his lopsided smile...

"Hello Shaw."

Hearing a voice that she thought she'd never hear again finally broke Shaw. Shaking her head again side to side, tears began rolling down her cheeks. Reese opened his arms and Shaw ra straight into his embrace. Hugging him tightly, Sameen felt all of the emotion of the last couple months come crashing down. Reese hugged her back as tight as his shoulder allowed. Resting his head atop of hers, his eyes stung with unshed tears. This was the first time she had ever shown any type of emotion that he could remember. It let him know how deeply his 'loss' affected her. All he could do was hold her and whisper "Sameen" over and over.

Burying her face against Reese's chest, Sameen cried. She cried for happiness that he was alive, she cried for all these months of mourning him, her 'twin'. She cried for all those times she'd needed him when the loss of Root became too much to bear. He was here; he was alive. That was all that mattered. The unexpected emotional moment was short, being completely out of character for Shaw. But it felt right. She felt like she had been holding her breath since that building came down. That bottled up, unreachable emotion had finally found a breaking point. Finally she could exhale. John was alive. She had not lost both of the most important people in her life. One had returned from the dead.

Regaining control, Shaw pushed away from Reese and scowled at him. "Where the hell have you been?"

Before Reese could respond he saw Fusco coming toward him, disbelief etched in every line of his face. "Wonder Boy?" he asked shaking his head. "You certainly have lived up to that name..."

Reese reached out to shake hands with him. Lionel knocked away his hand and hugged him almost as tight as Shaw. His bear hug knocked Reese off balance and they all almost tumbled to the ground.

Iris cried out as she reached for Reese and helped to steady him. "John, I really think you should sit down. This has been a lot for you to handle at one time and you're still not 100%."

Smiling at Iris, John nodded his head. "Lionel, do think you get let go long enough to get me to that bench?"

Lionel grinned at him. "Always trying to tell me what to do. Some things never change. " he said as he guided him to the bench.

Once seated, everybody starting talking at once. Sameen and Lionel wanting to know where had he been and what had happened to him the day of the missile strike. Iris and Zoe stepped off to the side to watch the happy reunion.

"This is a good thing. John needed this. Now that his memory is fully returned, his recovery will be much faster." Iris observed. Zoe nodded in agreement. Keeping John's survival from Shaw and Fusco had been difficult. Iris knew both of them had been hurting and had had trouble dealing with John's loss. But she and Zoe had decided to keep that a secret, at least until until John had recovered more. His memory loss had frightened them all, almost as much as his physical injuries. But both just needed time to recover. Iris knew of cases where the mind just goes into a defensive posture when all hope is lost, and retreats from the real world when the pain of memory is too great. John's steady progress once his memory started coming back had been encouraging for all involved: Iris, Zoe, Joan, and Meg.

* * *

The days after the meet-up under the bridge passed quickly and smoothly. John's days were spent with full-on workouts twice daily. He was making progress but the weakness in his right arm and his left leg wasn't going away. He worked the weights with his arms until they shook uncontrollably. After almost dropping one on his foot he decided he needed to listen to Mrs. Mallard when she said enough and let her take the weights from him.

His time on the treadmill was mind numbing until he finally got it moved to the balcony. Out there he could enjoy the view and the wildlife that came the bird feeder he had set up. Ever since he'd discovered the book about birds, he'd enjoyed reading about them and identifying the different ones that came to visit. NYC was an amazing place and he never tired of the view.

Every night there seemed to be a group of people for dinner. Zoe continued to amaze everyone with her cooking skills. Dinner had become the meeting time and place for everybody. Many a night Meg dropped by for dinner, always bringing Joan with her. They had become quite close during John's convalescence. Since Joan refused charity, Meg had offered her a job at the clinic, helping with filing the charts, putting up supplies and helping keep the place clean. Her contacts with the street people had become invaluable. Meg felt she and her clinic were finally making a difference.

And a dinner by Zoe was not to be missed. Lionel had become her biggest fan. Living alone since his divorce, he found out that he was a lousy cook. It didn't take much get him to come for dinner. Sameen, of course, loved food. Food cooked by anybody. She was probably Zoe's second biggest fan. The two of them brought just enough insanity to the table to keep life interesting.

Joan would have returned to her friends living on the streets but Zoe stepped in. She put Joan up in a small efficiency apartment near the clinic. She felt they owed Joan so much for finding John and getting him help. He would have died in that rubble. He'd had no ID on him and would have ended up in a pauper's unmarked grave. Joan accepted Zoe's help in getting settled but began to pay her own way once the clinic job had started.

Sameen continued to work the numbers with Lionel. But now she had John as a sounding board for when she needed another opinion or point of view or even another plan. John enjoyed giving his input and insight on working the numbers but he was most pleased that Logan Pierce and his crew had been able to help Sameen and Lionel when needed. They had returned the favor a couple of times themselves.

The meeting with Fusco and Shaw created an unexpected dilemma for John. He realized just how much he missed the excitement of matching his wits against the perpetrators and his prowess in kicking the bad guys asses. He liked taking care of people who needed help. Iris had called him a 'natural born protector' and he was beginning to believe her. He was drawn to people who were defenseless and needing help. In all honesty, he was jealous that Sameen would get a call from The Machine and be out the door. He knew she loved what she did. He also knew that a big part of it was hearing Root's voice. He marveled at the sentience of The Machine. It had chosen for itself the perfect voice, the voice of its primary acolyte.

And yet, even as his work outs continued he knew, in the back of his mind, that his body was not recovering as fast as it used to. He still could not walk without his cane and his left leg still tired very easily if he walked any distance. The strength in his right arm was problematic. He knew in his current state, he would have trouble shooting a gun with his right hand because his arm wouldn't hold steady enough with the weight of a gun. Thankfully, he was ambidextrous so he could still shoot with the left. Still, it was going to be a huge limitation to overcome if he decided to go back to field work.

After much soul searching and talks with both Meg and Mrs. Mallard he finally admitted to himself that he likely wouldn't return to field work. In field work, your life depended on the ability to adapt to whatever situation you found yourself in with strength and quick reflexes. As it stood now, he wasn't 100% and that could be fatal. There was also a new aspect to consider in the form of his feelings for Iris. How could he, in all conscious, go back into the field at less than his best when doing so might mean he would never return to her? Zoe had had several, long talks with him about how Iris had been when they all thought he was dead. She described a woman who was grief-stricken, at a loss to find her way after losing him. What she brought home to him was his death coming so close AFTER he had pushed her away had been a painful combination for anyone to deal with. As much as he knew he would miss the adrenalin rush of living minute by minute, day by day, on the thin edge of life and death or even the feeling of a job well done when he saved a life, he knew he was going to have to make a difficult decision. That had been his life for most of his ADULT life. What kind of man would he be? He was getting a second chance to live that life he'd always dreamed about so what would he chose this time?

At that darkest of moments, he heard a key in the lock. Iris walked in with bags of groceries for the feast that Zoe would start preparing in a few hours. She called out to him while she put away the groceries. Hearing her voice always made the darkness in him fade. He turned to see her moving around in the kitchen. Tilting his head to the side, he listened to her chatter and answered her questions or commented when needed. The 'rightness' that he felt when she was with him burned brighter every day. THIS was the life he had.

After finishing with the groceries, Iris joined John on the porch. Before she could sit down beside him on the balcony he pulled her into his lap. Smiling up at her, he pulled her down for a warm kiss. This was home for him now.

That night at dinner they had a full house. Everybody was there. Meg, Joan, Sameen and Lionel all showed up and a great time was had by all. Stories about the clientele at the clinic were told with a dry comedic flair by Joan that surprised everybody. Lionel regaled everyone with some of the crazy goings on in the city. Everyone was relaxed and happy to be together.

After dessert John carefully stood up and got everybody's attention. He glanced at Iris and Zoe and got the go ahead from both of them.

Looking around the table, he was once again thankful for these amazing people that had come into his life. He'd never had many friends due to his 'career' choices. Seeing this many people here, because of him, was still surprising. Or better yet, was the thought that HE was here because of THEM. Shaking his head he smiled at all of them.

Looking down at Joan who always sat next to him, he smiled. "Joan, you saved me twice. Brought me back from the edge. One edge I was ready to jump over and one edge I almost fell over. I owe you my life, literally. You nursed me back to health years ago. You took care of a drunken shell of a man, who didn't care if he lived or died. You cared enough about a stranger to help him find the strength to keep on living. And not that long ago you dug me out of an 'early' grave of steel and concrete. Both times you did it because you cared. Knowing you has been a..." John's voice broke. Not being a man who showed extreme emotion publicly, he surprised himself with the depth of love her felt for this tiny, feisty woman. "...has been a blessing. A blessing that I will never forget." Joan smiled as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Looking into his eyes she saw the love that she always knew he had in him. Patting him on the cheek she whispered "Thank YOU John, for letting me take care of you like you were my son that I lost."

Standing back up he looked at Meg, seated next to Joan. "Miracle Meg. Introducing Joan to you was apparently one of the best things I could have done. From what I understand I was more dead than alive when Joan brought me to you. From the NEW scars that I have it's obvious that I'm lucky to be alive. I will never be able to thank you enough for the excellent care you gave me. But I will certainly try...by saying thank you every chance I get." Meg returned his smile and blew him a kiss.

Looking at Zoe seated at the head of the table, he smiled at her. Picking up his glass he saluted her. "Without your hard headed refusal to believe everything you had been told about my demise, you kept looking for me. Thank goodness you did. I might have survived under Meg's care but I'm not sure I would have been able to reconnect with my past, with WHO I was. Your faith that I was still alive is amazing even after all that has happened. I could have so easily fallen through the cracks. Thank your for your belief in yourself and in me. Salute!" and he took a sip from his glass.

His gaze drifted over to Sameen. As usual she was detached from all the emotions flowing around the table. She continued to eat the delicious food still left on the table. "Sameen, thank you for not changing. You are the same person I remember from before...my injury. You are my other half in the dark world we live and work in. You have always had my back and I hope you will continue to do so. I can't imagine my life without you in it. You are that important to me." That last statement caught Shaw by surprise. She had not thought too much about how her life had changed from when Root had been killed and she thought he was dead to now. Looking at him now, standing there looking at her, she realized he was important to her. He was her connection to her past...to Root. The life they had known working together as a team. She had felt that gap in her life but took no notice of it; not until John came 'back' to her. Looking at him now she gave him a slight nod with her head, accepting his thanks and appreciation.

Seated next to her was Lionel. Lionel whom had he known the longest of this group gathered here. "Lionel, I think our relationship has gone through the biggest change of all. You started out trying to kill me. And yet you ended up saving me more times than I can remember. Even with my returning memory!" to which everyone laughed. "You have been steadfast in your loyalty to me and to all of us. You have risked a great deal just by being associated with us. If not for Sameen, you would have lost your son. Loyalty should never cost you someone you love especially not someone as innocent as a child. You were Joss' partner. You felt her loss as deeply as any of us. She was killed because of us. Yet you stayed. You stayed and continued to help us after that. Thank you for that loyalty. Thank you for continuing your loyalty and helping Sameen." Looking sheepish, not used to being the center of attention Lionel pinked up and saluted with his glass. "Yeah, If I'd known what you were gonna get me involved in, I probably would have taken my vest OFF before you shot me Wonder boy!"

Looking down to his left he looked at Iris. Everything she felt about him and for him was in her eyes. He had to force himself to drag his eyes from their depth. "Iris, I truly believe I owe my sanity to you. The man you see today is here because of you. You had faith in me that I was much more than a hired gun. That I had something to offer the world, something to offer you. You showed me that I could be happy. That I could have what I had always thought was out of my reach...a normal life. Your gentle guidance on my journey kept me going, kept me on track. I was able to handle the onslaught of memories of FIVE YEARS...good and bad, the pretty and the ugly, all with your help. You helped me like myself. To accept that I was not the monster I had always believed myself to be. That acceptance helped me to allow people to get close to me and for me to get close to them. Thank you for giving me back all my pieces that I had lost along the way. And thank you for taking me back after I was so wrong to let you go." He leaned down and give her a kiss filled with all the love and respect he could give her.

Standing back up, he looked around the table once again. "But there is one important person missing from this gathering tonight."

They all knew who he was speaking about. Harold. The man who was responsible for almost all of them being here together was missing. The one that almost all of them owed a huge debt to. Remembering that he was still mourning the loss of Reese made them all feel guilty about their own happiness.

"I didn't mean to upset everybody. I just wanted to make sure everybody understood what needs to be done. I need to go to Rome. I need to see Harold and let him know I am alive."

Iris got up and walked around the table to Meg. Crouching down beside her chair Iris put her hand on Meg's arm. "Meg, do you think John is physically capable of flying? That has been our biggest concern. I know he's come a long way but I know planes can have adverse effects on people recovering from surgery."

Patting Iris's hand, Meg answered quickly, "I think he will be fine. I'll check him over thoroughly one more time but I haven't noticed anything that causes me concern with him flying."

Iris squeezed Meg arm gently. "Thank you. We were hoping you would say that. John is very anxious to see Harold. Even though intellectually he knows Harold survived, he still needs to see him for himself. Knowing that his 'death' caused Harold so much pain he is very anxious to put an end to his suffering. To make an end to this story. He's asked me to go with him. I told him I would as long as you cleared him medically."

Meg leaned toward Iris. "I can't think of a better traveling partner than you. He seems much calmer and more relaxed when you are near. It's evident to everyone that he needs you by his side."

That night, after everyone had left, Zoe, John and Iris sat out on the balcony. Zoe told them that as soon as Meg gave John a clean bill of health she'd buy first class tickets for the two of them to Rome.

Zoe bid John and Iris good night and took herself to bed. Glancing back at them in the loveseat on the balcony she had to smile. Iris sat on John's left side and that long arm stretched out and pulled her close. Seeing them together, their heads touching as they talked quietly made her smile even bigger.

Everyone was ready for this next step


	28. Chapter 28

**EDITORS NOTE: This is one of my favorite chapters but be prepared with the Kleenex!**

CHAPTER 28

Standing in the waiting area of JFK, John looked around at the group who had come to see them off. Sameen was watching everybody...EVERYBODY. She still saw danger everywhere. But in her defense, she was usually right. Lionel was his usual gregarious self. He could make friends with a stick. Zoe was looking her usual sophisticated self, impeccably dressed and perfectly turned out. Iris was by his side, talking to Zoe. Their friendship had continued to bring them closer.

Sameen stepped to the side and motioned for John to join her. Walking a little bit away, Sameen stopped and grabbed John by the arm.

"Look, I didn't want to say anything in front of anybody else. But I gotta ask you a question." she said quietly. Looking around, making sure nobody was within earshot she continued, "What's up with this cane? How long are you going to need that thing? And your arm, you're still doing everything with your left hand. Does your right hand still not 'work right'?"

John took half a step back and looked at Sameen. "Yes, I still need this cane,l Sameen. I need it to walk." shaking his head he asked, "What's wrong? What's bothering you? What are you worried about?"

"I'm not…..worried Nothing's wrong." she was quick to answer. Frowning, she thought for a moment, "Oh hell, yes I am worried! I was expecting you to be back, now that you're….you know….BACK. But you can't work in the field can you? Can you even hold a gun?" the words tumbled out of her mouth. It was obvious to John that this had been weighing on her for a while.

"I'm not fit for the field, no. My stamina is almost non-existent. I can't hold a gun in my right hand for any length of time, much less aim and actually hit what I'm aiming for. My hand shakes like I'm 90 years old." John replied, clearly exasperated with his lack of quick progress.

"Sameen, I want to come back. I want to continue what we started. But I am different. At least for the moment, I'm different. I'm working hard at getting back to my old self but I have to be honest. I doubt I will ever be back the way I was." Shaking his head, it hurt to finally put that into words.

Looking at Sameen he reached out with his right hand and gently held her arm. "All I can do is promise to keep trying."

John, knowing Sameen very well, knew she wasn't really angry at him. But anger was an emotion that she could handle. Worry was not.

"Keep working with Lionel. You make a great team. I'll be as close as a phone if you need me. And Logan is literally only a phone call away too." John took on his normal, calm, in control persona and that seemed to settle Sameen down. Looking up at him she gave him a smirky smile and punched him in the shoulder. Thank goodness it was his good shoulder. John felt pleased with himself that he had said the right thing at the right time. He didn't want to leave things in NYC in disarray while he was going to what felt like the most important meeting of his life.

Looking over at Iris, he smiled. Everything in his life had led up to this moment. And it felt so right.

After lots of hugs and promises to call, John and Iris boarded the plane. Zoe had purchased them first class tickets, which worked out very well because of the extra leg room. John had long legs and his left leg would be aching quite badly after this 14 hour flight to Rome. At least he'd be able to stretch both legs out.

The flight was not full and there were empty seats around them. John appreciated the privacy they had. Being out in public with strangers and not looking at everyone as a possible Samaritan agent was still something he was getting used to again. He'd made a couple of more 'field trips' with Mrs. Mallard. They had explored parts of NYC while pushing him in the wheelchair. The wheelchair provided him with the 'space' that he felt he need on the crowded NYC sidewalks. People tended to give him more room to maneuver. Now that he only used a cane, people weren't quite so careful around him. He had almost become claustrophobic with the crush of people in the boarding area of the plane.

Buckling up, he was reminded of one of the last plane trips he had taken. When he had tried to 'quit his job' over the loss of Joss Carter. The memory of her made him sad. Iris reached over and placed her hand in his, saying nothing. She had seen the sadness in his face and comforted him with just a touch.

Within the first hour into the flight they both had a drink and relaxed. They were content to be together, shoulders touching and lost in their own thoughts.

Looking straight ahead John began to talk. "I've told you a little bit about my family, but really not all that much. But I've had time to think a lot lately and I realized what you have been telling me all this time; my past is what has made me who and what I am today. I think I'm ready to tell you more about my family.

* * *

"You already know about my dad. He died when I was 10 years old. Just 2 months after being discharged." Reese paused as he remembered...

"He survived 4 tours in Vietnam. But he came home and got blown up in an explosion in the factory where he was working. He'd lucked into this job. Lots of vets had trouble getting jobs when they got home. But he happened to be in the right place at the right time and this job opened up".

"My mom was so happy to have him home. He'd been deployed most of my life. My clearest memory is of it being just the three of us, me, my mom and my older sister Sophia. When Dad came back, it was almost like having a stranger move in with us. Mom had done her best to make sure I "knew" my dad. She talked a lot about him. She once told me that she couldn't remember NOT knowing him. They had been together forever. I think she told me they met in 1st grade. He was the only one for her. Neither of them had ever even had another relationship. Mom said they both fell in love at first sight. It must have been true because she never looked at another man and he never looked at another woman. They were faithful to each other even though they were apart so much."

"My dad had a hard time when he came home from Vietnam. He came home a changed man. The world he came back to was not the world he left. The horror he left behind in Vietnam visited him at night in the form of nightmares. The reception he got at the airport stunned him. We were there to welcome him home but there had been demonstrators with signs screaming at him and the other soldiers that had come home. It was a different world than when he'd enlisted. The protests against Vietnam were everywhere. We were used to the constant barrage of protesters so we didn't realize, at first, how bad it would appear to him. Hearing people scream such hatred about our country and the people, like him, who'd just come back from HELL but were treated so badly, almost broke him. But being home with us, especially with Mom, was enough to offset all that, I think. I was really too young to notice it much but Sophia did,"

"She was nine years older than me and I remember when she and my mom would argue about the war. Mom was always there to support my dad but Sophia was hanging around a group that was becoming more and more active in the anti-war movement. Mom begged her to keep those activities away from my dad when he got home. And I'll have to give it to Sophia, she did try. But my dad knew. I can remember the silence at the dinner table with the TV news in the background. Our family life was...strained to say the least. But Mom was the glue that held us all together. Seeing how happy she was to have Dad home was everything to both of us".

Once again, Reese fell silent, his mind reliving his past. It did seem to be easier to think about his family. It was still painful, yes, but he felt he could deal with it. Glancing up, he saw Iris looking out the window. She had wanted to give him that moment of privacy, without her watching him. She must have felt his gaze. She turned toward him and smiled and he smiled back.

"There was an explosion in the factory where he worked. Eight people were killed. 22 survived. My dad was one of the ones killed. Not killed by the explosion, he was killed going back into the building that was in flames and pulling the injured out. He was one of the few who kept his head during the chaos that followed the explosion. He saved four of those twenty-two people before the fire got him".

"Oh John, I'm so sorry." She watched the pain pass over and through him.

Once again, the inward journey took over and he fell silent. Iris waited again for him to continue. This time she did watch him as he struggled to deal with the memory, it obviously still had a hold of him.

"I can still hear the people talking at the funeral. Talking about how brave he was. That he was a hero." He whispered.

"But I also remember them talking about my mother. They felt sorry for her. They pitied her. All those years waiting for him to come home and then to lose him in less than a year." He looked up and met Iris's gaze. There were tears in his eyes. "I will never forget how my mother looked when they lowered his casket into the ground. I was afraid she was going to jump in after him." Shaking his head side to side. "I held her hand as tight as I could to make sure she didn't jump, that she stayed with me."

"That must have been awful for her. All those years of waiting for him, worrying about him in harm's way only to lose him here."

"She was never the same after that. She sort of disconnected from life. She went through the motions of taking care of me and my sister. But her heart wasn't in it. She seldom spoke except when she was spoken to directly. She cooked for us and made sure we went to school but the house started to show her lack of care. She just seemed like there was no longer a reason to live. I remember trying to get her to eat more. My sister tried to take on some of the house keeping duties but she was having her own issues. She and my dad had come to an uneasy truce with her protesting activities.. Now that he was gone, she was ready to be gone too. The group she was hanging around had a bigger influence on her than my mother had at that point. She moved out about two months after Dad died. And that became just another blow to my mother. It was hard on her but she couldn't seem to rouse herself enough out of her mourning to do much about it. Slowly but surely, my mother faded away. So she really did die of a broken heart." John paused and one tear made its way down his cheek.

Iris's heart ached for the pain of that little 10 year old boy. Even now, she could tell from the pain he still carried, that he had not spoken of that time with anyone before.

"There wasn't much I could do for my mother. I was ten years old but I tried to be the 'man of the house' but I knew I was not being that successful. I would do anything to get my mother to smile, to try and give her even a moment of happiness. But she just got sadder and sadder, weaker and weaker. She caught pneumonia bad that winter and died." Again John paused for a minute, remembering his mother's smile and then remembering her sadness over the loss of his dad.

Iris could see what that admission had cost John. He was giving voice to the grief of a little boy who had lost both his parents.

"Because I was only ten years old I had to go live with my sister. Not the best solution but it was the only one available. Turns out my sister lived in a commune. Not really a place the son of an ex-soldier would want to call home."

"I lived with them for almost seven years. I stayed in school and tried to keep my nose clean. I wanted my parents to be proud of me. But I'd come home everyday to people smoking pot and doing drugs. I took up some basketball in school mainly just to keep from going home. Also because it was the cheapest sport I could play. All I needed was to pay for was my shoes and a second hand ball. Things were not good at home. I didn't like the guy my sister was with and he didn't like having me there. I hated coming home every day."

"I got beat up one time at school for standing up for vets like my dad. It turned out to be the only time I ever got beat up. I didn't like being on the losing end and not being able to protect myself. That was when I got into martial arts. I was surprisingly good at it. I got my self-confidence back and gained the discipline I'd been looking for and didn't even know it. I was a fast learner. Eventually I got a name for myself for taking care of bullies after I went after and got the guy who'd beaten me up two years before. By then, I was looking for others who were like I'd used to be, those unable to protect themselves and were being bullied just for being themselves. So now you know why there were no bullies in my school." John looked up and smiled sheepishly at Iris, remembering their walking therapy session that had ended up as a shoot out. Even then, she'd been so perceptive and pegged him as someone with a 'hero complex'.

"What happened to Sophia?"

A shadow came over Reese's face. This was another obviously unpleasant and painful memory for him. But Iris knew he needed to face it. To put what happened into words.

"I came home one day from basketball practice and walked into the house and found him beating my sister. She was on the floor, covering her face and he was kicking her." John paused as the memory of that moment filled him once again with rage. The look on his face, as it played over again in his mind's eye, was something that Iris hoped to never see again. There was death in that stare.

"They didn't even know I was home. Sophia was trying to crawl away from him and he'd dragged her back by her hair. She scratched him in the face and he let her go for a moment. She was finally able to stand up but when she did, he punched her in the face." Once again the moment was playing in his head. "She crumpled like she had no bones in her body. He stood over her screaming and kicking her over and over while she just lay there."

"I was finally able to move and I tackled him to get him away from her. I tried to go back and check on her because she was not moving at all. He grabbed me and screamed at me to mind my own business. I remember yelling at him "She IS my business. She's my sister!"

"I don't remember much after that. I do remember beating the crap out of him. He was no match for me. I was younger and I knew how to fight. He was hopped up drugs so his movements were sluggish. I almost beat him to death. Probably the only reason I didn't was because I remembered Sophia. She still hadn't moved."

"I left him on the floor and went to Sophia. She was bleeding badly. I couldn't wake her up. I called the operator for an ambulance. The police came at the same time as the ambulance. Neighbors had heard what was going on."

"It was like watching a bad movie. They loaded Sophia up and took her to the hospital. I can still see their faces. They were shaking their heads, her injuries were so severe."

"The police had arrived and ended up calling another ambulance for him. I'd beaten him that badly. And I felt no remorse except for the fact he was still breathing"

"I was taken to the hospital by the police to have my injuries treated. I was told I was under arrest for assault."

"The police were familiar with him and his habit of beating my sister. They had been called to house more than a few times. How she kept that a secret from me I don't know. Except that maybe I was working so hard to have a life away from them that I deliberately didn't notice. Either way, they pretty much knew what had happened before even talking to me."

Tears suddenly flowed down his cheeks as the next memory took a hold of him.

"Sophia died that night. Her injuries were too severe. She bled to death internally before I even got to see her. Maybe she'd still be alive if I'd called for the ambulance sooner, if she'd gotten to the hospital faster. I was so filled with rage and wanting to hurt him like he hurt her...I took too long...I was too late to save her. I knew she was being verbally abused but I didn't try to get her to leave him. It was my fault she died..."

Iris let his emotions play out. They had been bottled up for over twenty years. He needed this. So much of what he'd told her made her truly understand the man she knew today. She stayed quiet as she watched him warring within himself over the pain and frustration of not being able to change the past. She reached for a hand that he had clenched into a fist. Sliding her hand into his, he relaxed enough so that their fingers intertwined.

Leaning back with his eyes closed, John slowly brought himself back to the present and more in under control. Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he made a deep sigh. Opening his eyes, he looked over at Iris. A different man looked out of those eyes. The shadows were still there, but not as deep.

"Since the police were familiar with him and his penchant for beating up my sister, they put in a good word with the judge when I went to court for the assault charges. But right or wrong, I still beat a man half to death...even if he did deserve it...and that's against the law. It turned out that the judge had been a friend of my father. They'd served in Vietnam together. He knew what had happened to my dad. He knew my mother and how she'd died. Because of that connection I was lucky. I was given a choice. I could go to jail for ten years or I could enlist in the military.

Remembering all that came after that one decision, he fell silent. Pressing his lips together, he tried to keep himself in the present. His 'sensitivities', as Harold had once called them, were slowly becoming bearable. He turned his head and looked out the window of the plane. Squeezing Iris's hand, he lifted it and gently kissed the back of it.


	29. Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Landing in Rome, Iris and Reese were both stiff from the long flight. They waited until everyone was off the plane before they got up. John moved slowly with his cane and Iris gathered their one carry-on piece of luggage. Walking behind him, she was concerned with the pronounced limp he displayed. Hopefully she could talk him into going to the hotel first. ...but she doubted it.

Iris had been in contact with Grace via email since Harold had gone to Rome. She had felt the need, at the time, to keep tabs on him. Having gotten to know Harold through their talks, she had come to love and admire him. She wanted to be available if he had any setbacks. Getting Harold to give her Grace's email had been difficult. He had told her before he left that he was dropping completely off the grid with Grace. She knew it was due to the years and years he'd spent hiding in anonymity rather than being a reflection of a lack of trust in her; so she knew not to take it personally. It was only after she'd reminded him that at some point, Grace might need a confidant to help deal with the emotions his return was bound to stir up, did he relent. Iris knew better than to tell Harold that she was primarily concerned for his well-being, rather she invoked his feelings for Grace to get him to agree to the arrangement.

So Iris, despite never having met Grace, had gotten to know her through emails over the last couple of months. Iris couldn't help but admire the woman's strength and compassion. Grace had somehow managed to carve out a life for herself despite the hole in her heart that Harold's 'death' had caused. Iris was only too aware of the fact that she had almost shared the same fate with John's death.

At least every other week Iris would get an email from Grace detailing how Harold was doing and adjusting to life. It had been Grace's concern about the deep sadness she sensed in Harold that made her reach out to Iris for help. After finding out that John had survived, it had been very difficult not to confide in Grace about it, knowing how much it would have helped Harold. But her primary concern had been for John once they'd found him.

Iris had emailed Grace that she would be in Rome for a few days and made plans to meet her and Harold for an early dinner. Grace suggested a restaurant that she and Harold frequented. Iris had concerns about how the meeting between John and Harold would go down. She was torn between having it private, inside out of the way of most diners or outside in the sidewalk dining area. Knowing how skittish John seemed to be in closed-in areas, she chose to request they dine outside. She did not tell Grace about John even then. She knew Harold would have a very strong emotional reaction to the news of John's survival and she wanted to be there in person to help him work through it all. So in the end, all she'd mentioned was that she had something special for Harold.

After landing, Iris and John found they had a few hours before meeting Harold and Grace for dinner. Iris made the decision for them to go to the hotel first. John was limping badly due to fatigue and wasn't really up to arguing. He could shower and relax with his leg up at the hotel. She reminded him that no matter what happened between him and Harold, it was going to be an emotional time for them both and he needed to be at his best.

* * *

Grace and Harold walked slowly toward the cafe where they were meeting Iris for dinner. Harold had been pleased that she wanted to see him and finally meet Grace. He knew they had been corresponding. The late afternoon crowd was thinning out and it had been easy to get a table in the sidewalk area.

Harold loved to watch the people. He and Grace would make up stories about different people that caught their eye. For Harold it was a welcome relief to just know that the people he saw were just ordinary people. He had been so used to looking only at the people the Machine directed him to, used to looking for the small clues that would tell him if they were a victim or a perpetrator. But now, he could just look at whomever caught his eye. Grace looked at the different people walking about from an artist's perspective; seeing different facial features stand out on people or their style of clothes. Their conversations were light and casual. He and Grace took turns making each other laugh.

Harold never tired of looking at her. Even after these last couple of months, being with her day and night, he could not get enough of her. He had loved her from a distance for so, so long. So many years lost that they could never retrieve...he felt that empty ache starting again. He fought against it. Refusing to stay in the past...a past that he could not change. Just like he could not change the fact that John had sacrificed himself and any hope he would ever be able to find a place where he was finally at peace with himself and the things he'd done...John sacrificed himself for HIM. That thought brought up a sadness that had no ending. He knew that John was a good friend and that he'd told him right from the beginning that they would both likely wind up dead. But he hadn't expected to end up caring so much about the man nor to be so strongly affected by his death. Harold had thought that HE would be the one to die. That HE would not be alive to mourn the loss of such a good friend. Someone who was actually closer than the word friend could ever convey.

Watching his thoughts move across his face, Grace knew he was thinking about John again. There was a certain look, a certain degree of sadness that was completely different from anything else she'd experienced with Harold. She knew he missed his friends in NYC. He spoke of them often. Sameen had called twice. Rather short conversations. She wasn't a chatty person. Lionel had called a couple of more times and Harold seemed to enjoy those conversations. But there was always a shadow of deep sadness behind Harold's eyes.

He had tried to explain to Grace about John. About their friendship, their working relationship. He had even told her how they'd met. That surprised her greatly, but there had obviously been a strong connection between the two of them...if John had been willing to give his life to save Harold and if Harold was still mourning months later.

She reached across the table to clasp both of his hands in hers. Pulling his attention to her and out of the past that haunted him, he smiled. Grace's returning smile made things alright again.

Over Harold's shoulder she saw a woman walking toward them. She was with a man who was walking slowly with a cane. There was something that caught her eye, keeping her attention focused on them. Grace had never met Iris but Harold had described her. Long, reddish gold hair and tall. The smile on the woman's face as she spotted Grace made her realize that had to be Iris. But who was that with her? The closer they got, the more clearly she could see the man. He looked familiar to her. The gray hair was not familiar but his face was. Suddenly she _did_ recognize him. Her hands tightened on Harold's hands in shock, tight enough to make Harold wince. Seeing the shocked look on her face alarmed Harold.

He stiffly turned around to see what had upset Grace. By then, the couple had stopped near them.

"Hello, Harold." said the tall man leaning heavily on a cane.

* * *

John had been ready to leave almost as soon as they got checked in to the hotel. Iris seriously considered hiding his cane to keep him IN the hotel. But she was worried that he would try to go out without it. Trying to use logic didn't work too well either. She explained that their dinner reservation wasn't for another 2 hours so there was time to rest and freshen up.

Iris finally got John to take a shower and into fresh clothes. She let him go first because she was worried he'd bolt if she went first. Once he was out of the shower and dressed, he relaxed on the bed. Within a few minutes he was out. She'd figured that's how it would work. Now she could take her time to get showered and ready for the meeting of a lifetime.

The taxi dropped them off less than a block from the cafe. John wanted to walk but she knew he wouldn't do well to walk very far. They enjoyed the sights and sounds of everyday life in Rome. The constant honking of cars, the little Fiats dodging in and out of tight traffic spots. The rapid fire, animated Italian floated around them. It was almost like walking IN a movie.

As they got closer to the cafe, Iris slipped her arm into John's right arm, holding it tight. His walk was slow and measured. Being very careful to not overburden his weaker left leg, he leaned heavily on the cane in his left hand. His eyes were searching for that one person that he'd come across an ocean to see.

John saw Grace first. She was facing him. He saw her smile at Iris. His heart began to pound in his chest. His breathing was slightly labored. He recognized the spiky hair of the man who sat with his back to them. It was grayer than he remembered, but then so was his, he thought ruefully.

Iris and John were about 5 feet from the table when the man turned around stiffly to see what Grace was staring at. Meeting Harold's shocked eyes, John almost stumbled as his bad leg just about gave out on him.

Harold. He was alive. He had survived. He knew that Iris, Zoe, Sameen, and Lionel…they had all **told** him that Harold had survived. But somewhere in the very back of his mind was that one small doubt that he was being told what he wanted to hear, not necessarily what was true. But there the man was. Right in front of him...alive. Getting himself under control was the hardest thing he had ever done...but he did it.

"Hello, Harold." He said, his voice gruff with emotion.

* * *

Harold looked straight into the eyes of the tall man in front of him. That voice was unmistakable. It was a voice that he'd thought he would never hear again.

"John?" was all that he could get out, and that barely in a whisper. "John?" He tried again.

Pulling his hands away from Grace's, he stood up slowly. Never taking his eyes off of the ghost in front of him. Because he had to be a ghost. He had died. Harold had seen him die. He had been killed by that cruise missile fired in a last desperate attempt by Samaritan! The building had crumbled. John Reese was dead. No one could have survived that! Not even John Reese.

And yet...here he was. Standing in front of him. Alive. Thinner, grayer but he still had that slight tilt to his head and that slightly off kilter smile.

"Yes Harold. It's me. I'm not dead." John said in his trademark whisper.

Looking away for a moment, John could almost see them both standing on that bank of the East river. A slight smile played across his face at the memory. A scrungy hobo talking to a man in an expensive three piece suit; not your normal job interview setting. Looking back at Harold, the love he felt for this man almost overpowered him. Even then, John had been able to see the goodness in Harold's eyes, before he'd known anything about the man and his crusade.

"You offered me a job once; you gave me a purpose." he said, bringing Harold into the moment of the memory. "But you never told me I'd like it. You said we'd probably end up dead." John raised his eyebrows with that telltale smirk on his face..

"But I DID like it and I believed in what we were doing. I believed in YOU." He paused to collect himself as his feelings for the man in front of him almost overwhelmed him. "But eventually, I got killed for it." Smiling at Harold he continued, " However, I DIDN'T like being dead. So here I am."

Harold reached up to touch John's shoulder. He took in everything about the man standing in front of him. The same gray eyes, the scruff that he usually wore was an actual beard now, the hair was longer and definitely more gray.

John felt a jolt when Harold reached over to touch him as if to ascertain that he was really here in front of him. He looked at Harold and saw what grief had done to him. Knowing that it was his 'death' that had caused the grief made it difficult for him to handle. Seeing the tears well up in Harold's eyes as he continued to look at John in wonder, John felt the tears in his own.

"John?" Harold whispered again as his knees felt weak. He could not seem to get enough air into his lungs to speak. His heart was pounding in his ear. Harold's knees buckled and he grabbed John's arms to hold himself up. "John. You're alive! You're not a ghost!"

Dropping his cane, John reached out and pulled Harold into a bear hug, swallowing the smaller man. Harold responded with a hug of his own. The two men hugged each other, reveling in the fact that they were BOTH alive. That they had not lost each other. That one had not died for the other. That they had both survived. It was in that minute that each man was finally able to forgive himself for the wrongs he had done, for the lives that had been lost as a result of his actions. Both men knew that those people, the men they had been, were dead and gone. With the help and friendship of each other, they knew that they could be good men once more.

* * *

Grace stood up and walked over to Iris. She realized that Iris was crying, just as she, herself was. With no words the two women hugged and watched the two men they loved most in the world become whole again, hopefully leaving that deep sadness behind once and for all.

Iris was watching John closely. He was always her center of attention. He was supporting himself and Harold with his bad leg. They really needed to sit down before they both fell down.

"John, why don't you and Harold have a seat? I think we will all be much more comfortable."

It took a moment for John to realize that Iris had spoken to him. He had been lost within himself, drowning in emotions that he had not been prepared for. Trying to find the words to say to Harold. But nothing would come. Words failed him.

Not trusting himself to speak, John nodded as he held onto a visibly shaken Harold.. Finally turning toward Iris, she was taken aback by the stricken look in his eyes. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe he wasn't strong enough for this yet. She retrieved his cane and handed it to him.

Grace stepped forward and helped guide them to the table where she and Harold had been sitting. Once John and Harold were seated, Grace looked over their heads at Iris with worried eyes. Iris just shook her head as she took the seat next to John.

Instead of the happiness that was expected, Harold seemed to crumble within himself. He held tight to John's arm, still staring in disbelief at the face of his friend that he had thought he lost. The face of his friend who died in his place. The grief that had kept him locked in a dark place, was closing in on him. He should have been happy, relieved, that John was alive….but instead he was floundering.

Grace laid her hand on Harold's arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Harold looked down at her hand in surprise. Looking up into her face he seemed surprised to see her.

"Harold, what is it? Aren't you happy? John's here. John's alive….." she asked quietly. He continued to look at her in confusion. Looking back at John and then seeing Iris sitting next to him finally seemed to get through to him. Iris smiled at him but said nothing.

John kept watching Harold. The man sitting in front of him had changed. Not just physically. His inner fire seemed diminished. There was something missing.

John was having trouble dealing with the feelings that were overwhelming him. Seeing the changes in Harold that were due to his 'demise' was painful. The knowledge that they could have told Harold about his miraculous survival before now haunted him. Causing Harold any kind of suffering had always affected him greatly. It had been his JOB to protect Harold. He had saved him from Samaritan. But at what cost?

John placed his hand over Harold's where he had a death grip on his arm. He smiled grimly to himself thinking that description was a little too close to home.

Harold turned to look at John again. The confusion in his face changed to wonder as it registered that John really was here with him. He was not just a product of his wishful thinking.

Those gray eyes that saw so much but shared so little, had changed. They looked at him with no filters, no hidden thoughts. He felt like he was looking at the REAL John Reese. He may have died and come back to life, but he'd obviously left part of himself in the past and replaced it with something new. Glancing over at Iris he knew what it was…John had found his home in Iris and that normal life they had both dreamed of. She had saved John from himself like she had saved him.

Recognition of the miracle of John's survival and return was tempered with some bewilderment.

"How did you get The Machine to make a deal with you? I was its creator. I had a plan in place to take down Samaritan. We had already lost Root to that monster and I didn't want to lose anyone else because of me. I saw what it did to Sameen. Hell, I saw what it did to Root when we lost Sameen. No one else was going to die because of me. But YOU interfered. YOU went behind my back and made a deal with my creation!"

John looked at Harold. A slightly indignant Harold was much preferred to the almost catatonic Harold he'd been only a moment ago. Tilting his head slightly to one side he gave Harold a small smile. "YOU gave me that ability when you made me Admin when the Machine went into God Mode that time that Root kidnapped you. I never lost that access. Even after those 24 hours."

Watching Harold absorb that tidbit of information made John remember just how much this little man with his shock of brown hair, now very gray at the temples, meant to him. He still felt he made the right decision when he made that deal with The Machine years before. Seeing the 'inside' of the Machine had actually been a journey through the mind of Harold Finch. That one man could create something as powerful and all-seeing as the Machine but still teach it humanity was amazing. He could have so easily used the Machine to literally take over the world but instead he'd taught it to care about people. That kind of moral center was to be treasured and preserved.

"When my access to the Machine did not end after that 24 hour window, I realized I had established my own relationship with it. I think the Machine was actually sentient long before you were willing to admit it Harold."

John paused for a moment to gauge Harold's reaction to what he was saying. He was surprised that Harold said nothing. Even the expression on his face was surprising. He'd expected Harold to deny his connection to the Machine after the "God Mode" because it was suppose to end after 24 hours, but he didn't. He'd thought that Harold would argue about when the Machine became sentient, but he didn't.

"It was that sentience that allowed me to make that deal with the Machine." Pausing again, John once again laid his hand on Harold's arm. "Your Machine loved its creator, its father...you. It was willing to do anything to protect you. But you wouldn't let it. You had programmed it to not take any special 'care' of you."

Harold pulled his arm away from John's hand and looked down at the table, unable to look John in the eye.

"Harold, I made the deal with the Machine to protect you, since you wouldn't let it protect you. When your number came up, it gave it to me, not you. Because it knew you would do nothing. It knew you would sacrifice yourself before you let me or Shaw or even Lionel get hurt. So I made the deal with it. I didn't know when, or where or how the deal would be enacted...but the Machine did. When that moment came, I called on the Machine and she acted immediately, making sure that each of us was on the right rooftop at the right time."

"Harold, I'm sorry I caused you so much grief, that was not my intent. You hired me to do a job. You gave me a purpose, a way to put my 'life skills' to good use." His already low voice dropped lower as his eyes filled with what could only be tears. TEARS! He couldn't believe he was still capable of tears!

"Harold, I had nothing and you gave me everything."

John's words hung in the air. They explained everything…..their entire relationship. The truth of that statement resonated between John and Harold. Harold realized that he also had had nothing. He'd lost Nathan and Grace. He had gone into hiding alone, with only his Machine and his money for company. But in finding John, hiring him to work for him, no, to work with him, John had given HIM everything right back.

"I too had nothing and you and your friendship and your **trust** gave me everything." whispered Harold.

For John's part, the more he tried to find the words to tell Harold how much he meant to him, the stronger the emotions swirled within him. He was not normally someone who could explain his feelings and the things he was putting into actual words surprised him. He glanced over at Iris. Seeing her there by his side, quietly giving him the strength that he needed, he realized she had given him that ability. She had unlocked that part of him that had been hidden away since he lost his family. He turned his eyes back to the man sitting across the table from him and realized he had to find the words, but where to begin.

Iris watched John closely. She knew where his thoughts were going. Then she realized that she and Grace should not be here. Not at this moment. This moment was for John and Harold only. She caught Grace's eye and motioned for her to join her.

Reaching over, Iris touched John's arm. Giving it a squeeze, she said nothing and stood up. Grace pulled Harold toward her in a hug and also said nothing as she stood up. The two women moved away together and neither man seemed to notice they were gone.

Looking at Harold, John took in the bowed head, the grayer hair, the noticeable thinness, the new lines in his face...but most of all he noticed the slight tremor in his hands. Hands that he was used to seeing fly over multiple keyboards, typing codes and breaching firewalls. He was surprised by the thought that Harold might have been staying away from computers since coming to Europe. That perhaps the man had felt he needed to stay away from any reminders of what they had been doing and of what he had lost. For Harold that had to be like cutting off his own arm, it seemed so unnatural. It was one more thing that John felt he must atone for.

The guilt that John felt was almost overwhelming. He'd been so single minded about making sure that Harold survived, that Harold lived...that he didn't think about how Harold would handle HIS death or that Harold would blame himself for his death. He'd never considered what Harold felt towards him... not until those words that Harold uttered as he was locking him in the safe. Harold had always held himself back in his relationship with others...only letting small moments escape. But now, to find out just how deeply Harold had mourned over his death and how wrapped he was in guilt over his death was almost more than John could handle. He knew he had to do what he could to restore Harold to the man he'd been before with none of the guilt found in the man before him now.

The ache in his own throat for feelings he couldn't express was painful in itself. John had never been good at putting his feelings into words. It had always been easier to bury feelings deep than to try to understand them or express them. But Iris had worked her magic on him. He had been able to talk to her, to put into words things that had been buried for many many years. But she had helped him find that part of him that he thought he'd lost forever. Now was the time she had been preparing him for. She had given him the tools to heal himself and to help and heal Harold.

Reaching across the table, John took Harold's hand in his and held it tight. Slightly squeezing it until Harold looked up. Seeing the strong emotion in Harold's eyes, John knew he had to be the one to start. Taking a deep breath he opened himself up to Harold like he had done with Iris. But this was on a totally different level. He knew he had to make Harold believe...believe that the right thing had happened between them for the right reasons.

"Harold, remember what I said a moment ago? That I had nothing...but you gave me everything?" John closed his eyes and tried to get his thoughts in order.

"I had lost everything and everybody that I cared about. My family was gone. Jessica was gone. My country, that I had sold my soul to, had betrayed me. I had nothing." John paused again. Admitting how deep his depression was had been difficult. He could still 'see' the blackness within himself from those days. "You were right that I was looking for a more efficient way to kill myself. I was on that subway, drunk as usual, on my way to the Brooklyn Bridge. I was going to end it. End my miserable life, a life that had become pointless. There was nobody to even care that I was dead. Mine was a life that was not needed and would not be missed. I was going to jump off that bridge with a bottle in hand, screaming at the top of my lungs 'take me'." John choked on his own words. The dark despair he had felt that moment on the subway came roaring back. He could almost taste the rotgut liquor he'd been drinking that night. Shaking his head, he still was mystified how that punk had messed with him at just that exact moment. One subway stop later and he would have been off the train and on his way to the bridge.

"But you saved me. You stopped me from ending it all. You gave me back my life and a chance to atone for all the bad things I had done in my life. And there are so many bad things. I'll never be able to balance the scales but you at least gave me a chance to try."

"Harold, I'm a soldier. I'm a soldier through and through. I protect and save. It's in my DNA. I am my father's son. You gave me that chance to become the man that my father could be proud of. For that alone I will never be able to thank you enough. I knew what I was getting into when I came to work for you. I had no problem putting my life on the line every single day. I didn't even care if I died. All I cared about was helping people who needed help and taking care of bad guys."

Looking at Harold, John smiled. "But along the way you helped me to live again. To be able to connect with people. To find people and friendships like I never ever thought I would have. Whether you meant to or not, you gave me a family. With each person we added to our little 'vigilante' group I learned to care. Lionel, Shaw and even Root. And Joss...who we lost." he said quietly, with his voice trailing off, memory still full of pain.

"I was in the right place at the right time, Harold. I was told by an old friend when I was in military, 'I was built for this'. This was what I was meant to do with my life. The war with SAM couldn't have ended any other way. You couldn't have held off those gunman while that virus was uploaded. You know that. And we all would have died and the world as we know it would not have survived. Everything turned out just like it was supposed to...and you can't change it."

Harold sat there listening to the words that flowed so effortlessly from John. A new John. A John who had finally found himself. Slowly shaking his head, Harold tried to understand and accept John's words.

"John, I need you to understand that this was not one sided. I had lost everything also. I had given up Grace; I had lost my best friend to a government that I had tried to help." Looking down at John's hand holding his. Harold finally felt the bands of guilt easing their grip on his heart.

The loss of John had been devastating. Knowing that John had taken HIS place, that he'd DIED in HIS place had been a never ending pain. He had blamed himself for pulling John into his 'vigilante world'. He had berated himself for not letting John go when he first turned him down. He should have just given him the money and let him go.

Then his mind would roll back to when John had tried to leave after the death of Joss Carter. John had been in so much pain but Harold had secretly wished for him to stay and as a result, when John had tentatively attempted to come back, Harold had reached out and grabbed the opportunity to welcome him back. But if he'd let him go in Rome, John wouldn't have died on that roof top. Day after day Harold had run through so many scenarios in his mind of WHEN he could have, no, should have, let John go but didn't.

Between his grief over losing John and blaming himself for John's death, he had not been able to fully be at peace with Grace. And she had known that and yet she had stayed. Many times he had not felt worthy of her love.

"John you gave me back so much. I too had withdrawn from life. I had no friends. All I had was my work and The Machine. Yes I 'sold insurance' and yes I worked for a software company but I had no friends. It was only when you came to work for me that I learned how to be a friend again. How to care about another person. I'd kept myself away from others. But working with you changed all that." Harold closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.

"I meant what I said in that vault. I had no idea that you would become such a dear friend. The ache I felt of never seeing you again when I shut that safe was almost as painful as when I saw you on that other rooftop. I had been trying to deal with dying and losing you as a friend and never seeing Grace again. Those two things were what drove me to the rooftop. The wrong rooftop'." Harold said softly.

"You said I gave you so much but you gave me so much too. I will never be able to put into words what you have meant to me. I can only tell you how very glad I am to see you again. That you were not taken from me or from this world"

Hearing John's words, finally loosened up the stranglehold Harold's grief had on him. To finally understand how the 'deal' was made and why finally freed him from the anger and guilt that had held him captive for so long. The long talks that he and Iris had before he came to Rome had been the beginning of understanding. But there had been a missing part. And now it was found….John was alive, he had not died in place of him.

Harold finally felt at peace. John was here, he was alive. He seemed to have found the happiness with Iris that he had always denied himself. Turning towards where Iris and Grace were standing several feet away, he smiled and realized that his life, his world was complete. He had the woman he had loved all his life and the friend who had come to mean so much to him, by his side with the woman he loved.

* * *

Sitting back in his chair he looked at John and smiled. "Now, tell me how the 'Man Who Could Not Be Killed' survived a cruise missile?"

Returning his smile John looked at Iris and said, "I'll let Iris tell you an amazing story about hard headed women who don't believe everything they've been told."

Over dinner, Iris gave the details to Zoe's perseverance and determination in finding John. Grace and Harold listen in amazement at the random series of events that created the miracle sitting at the table with them.

It was the part about John meeting with Sameen and Lionel under the Queensboro Bridge that brought tears to Harold's eyes. He looked at John and the shared memory of their first meeting flowed between them, unspoken.

By the time they got to dessert John's leg was beginning to bother him. Sitting too long made it ache. Soon after they paid for dinner they took stroll. John and Harold walked together and Grace and Iris walked behind them.

Linking arms with Iris, Grace whispered, "Just look at them. Now they both limp!" This caused both women to laugh aloud. Upon hearing their women laughing, both men had matching smiles of contentment on their faces.

"Harold, I need to ask you something important."

"What is it Mr. Reese?" Old habits were hard to break. John had used his 'business tone' of voice so Harold had answered in the more formal manner.

"Do you know anyone that could give me a job?" Looking back over his shoulder at Iris, he said "Or maybe a part-time job?"

 ** _The End_**

* * *

The author and editor both thank you for reading and all your kind and encouraging words as you've come along with us on this final journey. We hope that you always remember this wonderful show that gave us all hope that there really IS some one out there who will watch over us and that two people working together really can change the world.


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